


When Everything Turns to Black

by EndoratheWitch



Category: Deadlands (Roleplaying Game), Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Deadlands - Freeform, F/M, Horses, Human AU, Monsters, Smoking, red dead redemption feel, weird west, year 1879
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: The year is 1879, Marianne and her family move to a new town in the west from the city.





	1. King's Veil

Marianne glanced over to her father on the bench opposite her, slumped in his seat, his hands folded across his belly as he snored lightly, deep in sleep, his top hat lying crookedly on his flattened blonde head. She smiled at her father. The man was unbending, stuck in his ways, hardheaded and sometimes so old fashioned that she couldn’t stand him, but despite it all, he loved his eldest daughter and Marianne knew that no matter what had happened back in the city, he loved her. That was one of the reasons they were moving out west, because despite everything that had happened with Roland, he loved his daughter and wanted her to have a fresh start. Granted that fresh start was as far away from the city as possible, but still... 

Marianne’s brown eyed gaze shifted from her father to her little sister. Dawn, their parents’ surprise baby, a little blonde blossom of sunshine and the Summerfield family’s last hope of a decent marriage. Dawn was asleep too. She looked so sweet in her cream colored French style traveling dress, (the style a complete opposite of Marianne’s more dull traveling dress) her matching hat with the satin ribbons was currently on her lap, her gloved fingers just barely keeping it from falling to the coach’s floor. Her blonde hair was done up in the latest style, she looked as pretty as a picture, like one of those beautiful women they saw in the newspapers. She was still wearing the mourning brooch of their mother’s hair at her throat despite the fact that their mother had died several years earlier. Gazing at the brooch Marianne reached down and rolled the ring that she wore under her glove. The ring contained a lock of her mother’s hair, just like Dawn’s brooch. Though it had been several years, her mother’s death still felt fresh. 

Marianne sighed softly, wishing she could sleep like her father and sister, but the bumpy ride and cramped space made her restless. She might be able to get out and walk along for a bit with the other wagons and coaches, though that would probably wake her father and he would have a fit. 

Her father hoped that by moving out west he could find Dawn a suitable groom (having given up on his eldest daughter after that disaster at the church on her own wedding day, the day she had found out about Roland’s infidelities). Dawn was still young and had a bright future, being only nineteen years old, unlike Marianne who was officially a spinster at twenty-seven years. Roland had probably been her last chance at marriage, but that damnable man had cheated on her the very day they were to be at the church for their wedding. Marianne may be old, a spinster, but she had her self-respect and she was not going to marry a man who was faithless just because she was a spinster. She wasn’t ever going to marry--no one...ever. 

Marianne sighed and leaned toward the stagecoach window. This had been the longest trip of her life, first by train, and lastly by coach. It was nice to know when they left at dawn this morning that this was the shortest and last leg of their trip. She was tired of sitting, tired of looking out windows at the world around her and more than ready to start fresh, to get out there into the wilderness and find herself a new life...and to get out of this damnable coach she thought rebelliously. She blushed. Even cursing mentally made her blush still, she could only imagine what being able to say the words out loud would do to her--her cheeks and ears might actually catch on fire! She giggled softly, hiding the sound behind her hand. She smiled a secret smile as she lifted up the oiled leather that acted as a curtain with a gloved finger and looked outside. Her brown eyes widened as she took in the landscape. The pines trees had increased in abundance so much so that she could barely see the larger mountain peaks. She held the leather curtain up and leaned out the window, a grin dancing across her features as she saw the town not too far in the distance, King’s Veil, their new home. 

As the couch moved closer to the town, she could see that even though they were located far from any city, the town was bustling with life. She could see horses and carts and as they came closer, she could see people on the street. 

The town seemed to be primarily two rows of buildings that lined the main street, which wasn’t paved like the streets back home. Instead, it was a simple wide dirt path trampled under the feet of many a horse and wagon. Right now the street was a muddy mix of dirt and manure from the horses and a few head of cattle she could see up the street. As the driver drove the coach through the muddy, trampled street Marianne gazed at the town and lifted her other hand to her nose to stifle the odor. None of the buildings seemed to be constructed from brick; every one of them was wooden. There was a land office, a bank, a stable, she could see a chapel, a bar, a smithy, and a few houses. The coach moved more slowly through the town, providing Marianne with a chance to see some of the people, the people she would be getting to know as Marianne Summerfield, not Marianne Summerfield the spinster...at least she was hoping that her age wouldn’t be as much of an issue out here. 

As the coach moved slowly past the sheriff’s office, Marianne saw a man step out, one of the tallest men she had ever seen. He had to stoop slightly to get through the doorway. He stopped on the porch of the building and watched at the stagecoach moved by. In addition to being tall, he was lean and wore a black suit with a silver star pinned to his chest. He had on a black wide brim, flat top hat, and a silver chain across his abdomen. As the coach ambled past, Marianne got a good look at the man’s face. He was clean shaven, though he looked as if he would soon need to shave again as the darkness of whiskers shadowed his chin. His features were long and sharp with a pointed nose and scarred sharply pointed chin. He had a cigarette in his mouth, but as their eyes met, he pulled it out and gave her a slight smile reaching up to touch the brim of his hat. He dipped his head in greeting to her, but not before Marianne saw that the man had the bluest eyes she had ever seen! His eyes didn’t move away from her as the coach continued its slow course. 

She blushed, but smiled back at him and nodded, acknowledging his greeting. She tried not to look, but after they had passed the man who could only be the town’s sheriff, did Marianne sneak a look back at him, only to find him watching the coach still. They shared a look, his eyes seemed to glow to her under the shadow of his hat’s brim, causing the strangest sensations to spread through her body, like nothing she had ever felt before, but then a rather short man came rushing out of the building behind the black clad sheriff, and his attention was drawn away from her. Marianne’s cheeks seemed to burn as she turned back to watch as the coach arrived toward their destination. She did look back one more time to see the man walking with the shorter one down the street in the opposite direction. She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip watching the way the man walked, with that slight flow as if he were walking on a moving ship. She sighed regretfully as the coach moved away, but no sooner had she turned back than her attention was drawn to the rosy colored building coming up quickly in front of her. 

There were other buildings she could see now that she stopped looking at interesting sheriffs. She saw a sign that looked to indicate a dressmaker, next to that there appeared to be a Millinery, and there was--of course--a saloon, a place of ill repute she was sure...but Marianne was also sure that interesting things went on in places like that. The stagecoach pulled up in front of the hotel, The Primrose Hotel, that would be their new home until they were able to move into their more permanent location, a house that her daddy was having built near the largest lake close to King’s Veil. Lake Sapphire would provide them with several acres of land where her Daddy would grow grapes for fine wines, breed horses and with his orchard of pears and apples, her Daddy planned on living a simple gentleman farmer life with his eldest spinster daughter. (She knew he hoped it would only be her who was the spinster, but Marianne knew her father had nothing to worry about with Dawn. Not only was Dawn young and pretty, she fell in love at least five times before supper every day.) Their father also made extra money off the mine he owned in this area. 

Marianne smiled. Perhaps this was exactly what she needed, a new start in a new place...and maybe, just maybe, there might be some adventure out here for her in this new frontier that had been denied to her in the city. 

* 

Bog King set off down the street heading toward The Sugar Plum Saloon with one of his deputies, Theodore Thang Butterhorn, a short, wide eyed young man with a new wife and a baby on the way, to get some breakfast. He knew his mother would have preferred he came down to the hotel, but when he saw that damn pretty woman in the stage coach heading in that direction, Bog decided to go in the opposite direction. He figured there was no use in torturing some pretty young woman by making her see him too soon. She would get an eyeful of the town’s hideous sheriff soon enough without him invading her space. But she had been pretty. No, he corrected himself, she had been beautiful. Pretty women were a dime a dozen, but truly beautiful women were rare and that woman he had just seen with the large brown eyes was beautiful. No, breakfast at the local brothel was better. 

Thang was talking, jogging along beside the sheriff in an attempt to keep up with Bog’s long legged stride, but Bog was only half listening as the shorter man pushed up his glasses and continued talking. “See, Farmer Wilson says he knows it was some prairie ticks that killed his chickens because he found a nest of them out in the woods that run behind his farm.” 

Bog took a deep drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke drift from his nostrils as he spoke. 

“Found a nest did he? In the woods? That’s unusual. Don’t those critters usually infest...well, the prairie and not in the woods?” Bog’s Scottish accent was still very clear in his words though he was trying his best to lose it. He didn’t like standing out anymore than he already did and still holding onto the accent he had when he had moved to the states with his mother and father as a young man irritated him. 

Thang shrugged, panting a little from his jogging next to Bog. Bog took pity on the young man and slowed his stride. 

Bog sighed, tossing the remains of his cigarette to the dirty road as he reached the steps leading up to the brothel. “Tell me he didn’t touch it.” Bog turned to look at Thang who had stopped cold when he realized where Bog was heading. 

“No sir, he didn’t touch it as far as I know.” Thang blushed with a look up at the building. 

Bog looked at Thang, then at the brothel. “Thang, the girls only work at night. During the day they just serve food and drink. I don’t think yer wife Steph will kill you if you wanna come in and eat.” 

Thang shook his head. “Oh no sir, if Stuff found out I even step a toe in the local bed-house…” (Bog always wondered by that nickname, but never got around to asking Thang about it.) “She would hog tie me and leave me outside. And with the baby coming, I don’t want to upset her.” 

Bog chuckled. “Fine. I’m just gonna get a bite to eat. Why don’t you head over to the Pare’s and see if he has anything on that coach that just came in he needs help unloading.” 

Thang nodded and turned away. 

Bog called out. “And if you see Brutus, tell him to get his arse to the jail will ya?” 

“Sure thing Mr. King.” 

“Bog, just call me Bog please.” Bog sighed as Thang responded. “Sure thing Mr. King.” 

He shook his head, pushing in the doors of the brothel. He smiled as he walked in greeted by the smells of cooking bacon, biscuits, gravy, eggs and steak. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside he saw Arnold Wesker, dressed in his simple white shirt and dark pants with his favorite striped apron on. Arnold, the bartender and muscle of the brothel. The man was average height and thin, with a perfectly smooth bald head and a pleasant face. He had moved out here from England and like Bog, still had his accent. 

He smiled when he saw Bog. “Here for some breakfast I see.” 

Bog smiled. “My Mam had some new guests arrive this morning. I figured I should stay clear.” 

Arnold grinned. “Oh, must have been at least one lady on the coach then.” 

Bog made a face at the older man who simply laughed. “I’ll let Aura know you’re here Bog. She’s in the kitchen putting breakfast together, though most of the girls are still sleeping. Can I get you some coffee?” 

Bog took a seat at one of the stools. “That would be nice, thank you.” 

Arnold disappeared into the back. 

Bog sighed placing his elbows on the counter and removed his hat, setting it beside him on the counter. A moment later, Aura, a short woman dressed in an ornate blue and black corset and skirt, beaded blue silk shawl over her shoulders, and with her blonde hair piled loosely on her head, came hurrying out from the back and came around the bar. 

“Bog honey! Good morning!” Aura threw her arms out. Bog chuckled and hopped off the stool bending down the hug the short older woman. “Hey Aura, good morning.” 

“Oh you stop calling me Aura and call me auntie like you used to silly.” The brothel’s madame, and mother, hugged him before smacking his arm. 

Bog smiled tenderly. “Sorry Aunt Aura.” 

“That’s better. Why are you here for breakfast and not at your Mams?” Aura hurried behind the bar and took the coffee from Arnold before she turned around to hand the strong black brew across the counter to Bog. 

Bog shrugged as he took the offered coffee. “New guests came in today.” 

Aura made a face at her nephew. “A pretty young woman was among them I’m guessing?” 

Bog made a face and Aura sighed with exasperation. “Bog honey, you can’t avoid all the women in town.” 

Bog took a sip of his hot coffee and muttered into the cup. “Watch me.” 

Aura sighed laying her arms across the counter trying to catch her nephew’s eye. “Bog, you been bach in it for too long. Your mother is going to get to the point where she won’t be patient with you anymore. She is going to want grandchildren eventually.” 

Bog grumbled incoherently into his coffee before he looked across the counter at her. “Auntie, we both know ain’t no woman going to want me. I’m hideous. We’ve been down this road once and that was more than enough for me. A man has to know his limits, and well...I met mine where women are concerned. Being sheriff is enough for me--it’s my calling.” 

Aura sighed. “Bog honey, Stella Queen was a bad egg, the worst type of woman, a heartless one. You ain’t hideous honey, you never have been. Don’t let the opinion of one woman who broke your heart prevent you from finding love.” She reached out and laid her hand over his. “Please Bog.” 

Bog sighed rubbing his scarred chin while looking up at his aunt. His blue eyes were sad, lonely. She worried about him as much as his mother did, living alone in that cabin of his... 

Bog took a sip of his coffee, looked at his aunt, then back down at the black depths of the coffee as if searching for an answer. After a beat he sighed. “I’ll stop by the hotel after I eat and see about meeting the new guests, find out if they are permanent or just passing through, okay?” 

Aura smiled. “Thank you honey. Now I’m going to go finish cooking and load you up a plate, need to keep trying to get some meat on those bones of yours!” 

Bog chuckled. “You’re fighting a losing battle auntie.” 

She called back as she moved to the kitchen. “Don’t I know it!” 

* 

Griselda King, the owner and operator of the Primrose Hotel was sitting at the check-in desk wearing one of her fancier dresses, a rust colored silk dress her son had brought back from the city for her birthday. She loved this dress and wanted to look nice when the new guests arrived. She had even put on more effort to style her greying red hair into something that looked more French catalogue than frontier lady. Right now though, there was no one downstairs so Griselda was reading Lady Audley's Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon, an exciting and scandalous novel. It was a little indulgence of hers, also another gift from her son who shared his mother’s love of reading. He was such a good boy, she thought absently as she put her finger in her book marking her place. 

Griselda glanced at the door and wrinkled her nose. That good boy could be so stubborn though. He was supposed to come by and have breakfast with her this morning, but hadn’t shown up yet. She was sure it was because he had seen the new coach arrive with guests, and his absence meant he knew those guests were women. She sighed in frustration and opened her book back up. 

She had already seen to her new guests who she was quite excited about. One Dagda Summerfield, soon to be gentleman farmer and his two unwed daughters, Marianne and Dawn Summerfield. Griselda had nearly burst with joy! Two new young woman meant two new chances for her son! Though after meeting the young ladies, Griselda was convinced that the eldest spinster sister was the one to keep an eye on for her boy. She had immediately recognized the backbone in that young woman, which the young Marianne would need to deal with her son, and there was a fire in that girl’s brown eyes. Griselda grinned to herself. Marianne was a beautiful young woman, a spinster sure, but her son was a handsome older man, a bachelor...they were perfect for each other!! Now to get them together. 

She marked her place in her book and set it on the counter, her mind working quickly. There had to be a way to introduce the two of them. Bog wouldn’t show up here on his own... 

Oh, she knew exactly what to do!! A ball!! 

Griselda’s grin slipped into a wicked smile. It would be difficult to plan a party at the last minute like this, but if living out here in the wilds had taught her anything, it was how to work quickly and efficiently. She could contact her sister Aura...invites could be through word of mouth. Everyone would come--even the few persnickety residents of King’s Veil who thought themselves better than everyone else. Even they would not dare refuse to show up to a King party because everyone knew who had founded this town. Griselda hopped up quickly and hurried out to the front porch of her hotel and yelled, her own Scottish accent coming out thick and strong. “ROY!! ROY!!! Where are you?!” Hurrying from around the side of the house came Roy Coffee, Griselda’s odd jobs boy, his brown hair a mess and his shirt hanging out of his britches, and right behind him came Martha Muddles, one of the hotel maids. The young woman’s corn silk hair was a mess and the top two buttons of her dress were undone. Griselda quirked a brow at the two of them as a blushing Martha gave Griselda a quick curtsy. “Morning Mrs. King.” 

Griselda smiled and resisted lifting her eyebrows. “Morning Miss Muddles. Aren’t you supposed to be mopping the floors in the kitchen?” 

“Yes ma’am--sorry ma’am.” Martha blushed furiously and hurried off toward the back of the hotel and the kitchen entrance. 

Griselda turned her attention to Roy. The boy was hanging his head, the tips of his ears burning red. Griselda shook her head. “Roy, I swear you and Martha need to just make it official and start courting in public and stop all this sneaking around, especially when you all are doing it along the side of my business.” 

Roy blushed harder. “Sorry Mrs. King, and I would Mrs. King, but I can’t afford a ring for her yet.” 

Griselda sighed. “Griselda, call me Griselda, Roy.” She sighed. “We’ll talk about that later. I need you to go to my sister and let her know I’m planning a ball for tonight and I need her help. I want you to go by Pare’s and tell him I need my usual party order filled. He’ll know what I mean. I also need a turkey, and a side of beef. I also want you to spread the word, everyone is invited. It's a ball to meet the new residents of our fine town, starts as soon as the sun is down and the moon is up. You got all that?” 

Roy looked up, his eyes hopeful as he nodded. 

Griselda smiled. “You ask your girl to come and I’ll make sure you have something decent to wear. Now get.” 

“Yes ma’am, Mrs. King!” Roy ran off with a big smile. 

Griselda clapped her hands together. “I have a lot to do and not a lot of daylight to do it in.” She grinned happily and hurried back inside. 

* 

Marianne glanced in at her father and smiled. He was lying on his bed still dressed in his traveling clothes. The journey here had been hard on him and he needed his sleep. It was a perfect chance for Dawn and her to slip out and go explore the town. A low snort drifted from their father’s prone form. 

Marianne was dressed in a purple silk dress with a bustle back and “v” neckline. Her thick brown hair was piled on her head in a simple style under a matching bonnet with dyed ostrich feathers. She looked fashionable without being over the top or too grand. Dawn was standing behind her, dressed in her own silk creation of blue silk and taffeta, her blonde hair curled in the latest fashion under a straw bonnet with blue velvet ribbon and silk flowers. Dawn looked youthful, dainty...like a piece of heaven given form 

Marianne always thought of her little sister; innocent to the point of silliness, but one of the dearest and sweetest people she knew. No matter what happened, Dawn was never spoiled by the darkness in the world. 

Dawn whispered loudly at her sister’s shoulder. “Is he awake?” 

Marianne turned on her sister and hissed low. “He will be if you don’t keep it down.” 

Dawn blushed and giggled as Marianne shut the door. 

Marianne motioned at her sister. “Let us go before he wakes.” 

The two sisters hurried down the stairs, giggling mischievously only to run into a bevy of activity all under the direction of Mrs. King, owner and operator of the Primrose Inn. 

The two woman stopped at the foot of the stairs. Marianne frowned and whispered to her sister. “I wonder what is going on?” 

Dawn smiled brightly, her eyes dancing with delight. “It looks like a party is being planned!” 

Marianne gave her little sister a frown when Mrs. King saw them. “Oh my, the Summerfield sisters!!” The older woman rushed over to them, reaching out to grasp one of each young woman’s hands. “I’m so pleased to see you. You are both invited to a ball tonight. Actually, the ball is in your honor.” 

Dawn squealed. “A ball, out here? Really?!” 

Mrs. King laughed and nodded. “We do know how to have a party this far away from civilization, though it may not be like parties you both are used to in the city.” 

Dawn smiled brightly, the sun alive in her face. “I love all parties. Will there be painted ladies and cowboys here? Rough people?” She dropped her voice conspiratorially, though it was clear from her expression that she hoped those very people would be at the party. 

Griselda snickered. “There just might be Miss Summerfield.” 

Dawn squealed with delight adding. “Oh please, call me Dawn!” 

Marianne smiled. “Thank you Mrs. King. That is very kind of you to have a party in our honor, though our father may be less than enthused by the prospect.” 

Griselda released the young ladies hands and smiled. “Don’t you dears worry about your father. I have a way of turning a man’s mind to my way of thinking.” She tapped the side of her head. “Mr. King was always putty in my hands.” She smiled and folded her hands in front of her. “Now, the entire town will be there in addition to any of the farm families on the outskirts. No one in King’s Veil likes to miss an opportunity for a ball. Oh, and you can both meet my boy Bog, he’s the sheriff.” 

Marianne felt a shiver run through her, the tall dark man with incredible eyes. “Your son is the sheriff?” 

Griselda nodded. “Aye, he is. Took the position after his father died and after he--Bog that is--returned from the war between the states. His father had passed while our boy was doing his duty. Bog stepped into his father’s shoes as sheriff and has never looked back. He is well loved here.” Griselda smiled proudly. 

Marianne couldn’t help herself, intrigued. “He fought in the Civil War?” 

Griselda nodded. “Yes he did, fought for the north. My boy always had a strong sense of right and wrong. We raised him to see all people as equal.” She smiled fondly. “He’s a good boy and being sheriff just came naturally to him. He likes to help others and he believes in justice.” 

Marianne glanced down and licked her lips trying not to seem too eager as she asked. “Does he have blue eyes and wear black?” 

Griselda laughed. “Oh he does, eyes bluer than a clear summer sky over Loch Lomond, just like his father, though that boy does tend to dress like a well-off mortician.” 

Dawn was looking at her sister with a quirked brow, but said nothing. 

Marianne tried to look casual as she asked. “Will we be meeting Mrs. King as well?” 

Griselda frowned. “You’ve already met me dear.” 

Marianne shook her head. “Ah, no I meant…” 

Griselda smiled devilishly, struggling to keep the delight out of her expression. “OH, you mean is there a Mrs. Bog King? No dear, my wonderful boy has never been married.” Griselda smirked and added. “Have you met him already?” 

Marianne did her best not to blush. “Ah no, no I haven’t. I just...I saw him on the porch of the sheriff’s office.” 

Dawn grinned. “Oh? I didn’t know you had seen a handsome man. You didn’t wake me.” 

Marianne shot her sister a both embarrassed and stern look, reminding her little sister that she shouldn’t talk like that, before returning her gaze back to Griselda. “We would love to come to the ball. Please, let us know if there is anything at all we can do to help.” 

Griselda waved them off. “Oh no, not at all. You two pretty young ladies just find yourselves dresses and bring yourselves...and you father of course.” 

Marianne smiled. “Thank you again Mrs. King.” 

“Please my dears, call me Griselda.” Griselda smiled merrily. 

* 

Bog blew out some smoke through his nostrils as he removed his cigarette from his mouth, the burning cigarette pinched between his forefinger and thumb as he rode out to Farmer Wilson’s place. His horse, a sorrel colored American Saddlebred named Balrog, moved smoothly down the dirt road with a little hop in his step. Bog grinned. Balrog liked it when they were out in the countryside. 

Bog rode at a leisurely pace, tipping his hat to a few women who were out in one of Wilson’s fields. He couldn’t tell from where he was but Bog was pretty sure it was Wilson’s wife and young daughter, Anne and Mary Wilson. 

As Bog and Balrog came around the turn, he could see Wilson’s farm. It was a nice homestead, simple sturdy log cabin, fenced yard, chickens, a goat, couple of cows and horses, and a whole orchard of trees. The man had done well for himself. Wilson was waiting on the porch smoking his pipe and sitting in his rocker; the man’s dog Bill laid at this feet. Bill, an old dog, his black snout turning white, raised his head, but didn’t come into the yard after Balrog. Bill was a smart dog and knew that Balrog didn’t suffer dogs snapping at his feet. 

Bog rode up and slid easily off his horse, taking his horse’s reins and tossing them over the post near the front of the Wilson farm. 

Bog walked over to the porch and nodded. “Albert.” 

Albert smiled taking his pipe out of his mouth. “Nice of you to come out here Bog.” 

Bog smiled and shrugged. “Well, it’s part of the job Albert.” 

Albert Wilson laughed. “Yeah, but we all know there are sheriffs out there that don’t do their jobs like you do.” 

Bog blushed a little and nodded, kicking at some dirt. “Thank you Albert. So, you wanna show me where that nest is?” 

Albert stood. “Sure thing Sheriff.” 

Albert stepped off the porch and fell into stride next to the sheriff. Albert wasn’t a short man and he only came up to Bog’s chest. The two men walked around the farm and headed toward the pine and evergreen trees that ran behind the Wilson farm. They moved quietly, both men accustomed to hunting and the silence and careful steps that came from that occupation. Bog especially knew the value of a silent step after his time during the war. 

The two men walked maybe a mile when Albert stepped behind a tree and pointed ahead. Bog followed the direction of the man’s long arm and saw it. The opening to the burrow was in the ground, a large black hole. From this vantage, he could see some young prairie ticks moving around outside the entrance. The damn things were as big as his hand, but he knew from experience the adults were unfortunately bigger. 

Bog muttered rubbing absently at the scars on his chin. “Well fuck.” 

Albert nodded. “I figure it's only a matter of time before they go after something bigger than my chickens.” 

Bog nodded. “Yeah, okay--I’ll take care of this.” 

Bog and Albert made their way back to the front of the farm. Bog walked over to his horse and pulled out several blocks of tallow. Bog glanced over at Albert. “You got a bowl or a lantern I can melt this in?” 

Albert nodded. “Be right back.” As he headed inside and returned with a lantern. It took Bog a couple of minutes work to melt the tallow into a thick yellow goo inside the lantern. He held it up, the dim light lost in the morning sunshine. Albert watched him with a frown. “You think that is going to work?” Bog shrugged. “Don’t know for certain, but when I was in the war, it was a way to kill a wendigo. Get a hold of one of those creatures and pour melted tallow down its throat, killed them every time. But I also got some of these with me.” Bog flipped open one of the saddle bags and pulled out several sticks of dynamite which he tucked into his belt. 

Albert shuddered at the mention of wendigo and gave Bog a queer eyed look in regards to the dynamite now sticking out of the man’s belt, but nodded. 

Bog smiled. “Wish me luck.” 

Albert nodded. “Will do Sheriff, be careful.” 

Bog pulled his pistol from his hip holster, a Colt Army Revolver he had gotten during the war. The pistol was his lucky gun, the one he never left behind no matter what the situation. He smiled once more at Albert and hurried into the woods, moving quietly. 

* 

When he arrived at the location of the nest, he could see that the smaller ticks were gone, probably in the nest, but outside sat an adult. The blamed thing was nearly the size of the Wilson farm’s dog. 

Bog muttered to himself, some of the gaelic of his once mother tongue slipping out. He narrowed his eyes. He would have to shoot the thing, but shooting it was only going to alert the others. He would have to move fast...shoot on the run...difficult certainly, but for him, not impossible. 

Bog licked his lips, cocked the hammer of his gun and ran. 

The tick turned. It made a weird sound that was a cross between a whine like the sound of metal being pulled against metal, and a bark. Bog raised his weapon while holding the lantern up high and fired, the bullet ripped through the tick in a spray of red fluid and hard shell as Bog ran at it. Bog skidded to a stop by the nest. He could hear them as soon as he was at the nest site, down deep in the earth, dark sounds of monsters. His eyes widened. If the queer sound was any indication, that was a damn big nest. He didn’t hesitate as he began pouring out the liquid from the lantern into the hole. The hot liquid was greeted by a chorus of screams that made Bog’s skin crawl. He dropped the lantern and moving as quickly as he could, he lit the couple of sticks of dynamite and tossed them into the nest before he turned and bolted. He had only gotten a few steps before there was an explosion that threw him to the forest floor. Bog’s face hit the ground first, then his chest, the air getting knocked out of his lungs and his hat went flying, but he kept a tight grip on his gun. He laid there feeling a trembling in the ground. 

He rolled over onto his back and sat up, spitting pine needles and dirt as he looked back the way he had come. His ears rang, but the his hearing was already returning to normal. Black smoke was billowing out of the hole, but no creatures came scurrying out after him. 

Bog grinned, followed by a chuckle. He let out a full belly laugh and laid back looking up at the trees, his arms spread out and laughed harder. 

* 

When Bog arrived back in town he frowned when he saw a flurry of activity which all seemed to be centered near his mother’s hotel. Bog narrowed his eyes, a frown creasing his lips. “What on earth is that woman doing now? I leave town for a couple of hours…” he muttered and shook his head knowing that whatever his mother was up to, he wasn’t going to be happy about it.


	2. Scars and Dancing

Inside the millinery, a place called The Silk Rose, Marianne and her sister were both fawning over the selection of hats all designed lovingly by an older woman named Lily Hodges. The hatmaker was watching to two sisters with a kindly smile, looking just like someone’s sweet old grandmother in her dark brown dress, her grey hair up in a simple bun at the base of her head. The hats were impressive, somehow taking the latest in fashion, but giving them a unique look that neither sister had seen in any shop in the city, nor in any catalogue of French fashion. 

Dawn gingerly picked up one of the hats, a pink creation of pink satin ribbons and large silk roses in several shades of pink from dark to a lovely pink that it made the rose look as if it were simply blushing. 

“Oh Dawn, that would look lovely on you,” Marianne said softly. 

Mrs. Hodges motioned at Dawn. “Try it on my dear. I do think you sister is correct; that hat would look mighty lovely on such a sweet young lady such as yourself.” 

Dawn blushed. “Oh...I suppose I could.” 

Mrs. Hodges motioned Dawn over to a chair in front of a table that was covered in a fine lace cloth and supported a simple oval mirror trimmed in white. The older lady helped Dawn removed her current hat, and with the skill of years, she easily laid the pink hat on Dawn’s hair, careful to refrain from tangling or unraveling Dawn’s delicate blonde curls as she secured the new hat in place. 

Dawn beamed as she gazed at the hat, turning her face one way then the other to admire the way the hat looked. “Oh it is pr…” 

Just then the door to the hat shop was thrown open and a young man came rushing inside. He was short--he might have reached Dawn’s chin and Dawn was shorter than her elder sister. His skin was the color of leaves turned a light brown in the fall and his dark brown hair was pulled back in a braid down his back. He was dressed shockingly in only a heavy leather apron and dark brown pants with boots the same shade, along with a pair of heavy leather gloves. The gloves and apron had smears of black on them and the young man was sweating. 

Dawn immediately noticed the sprinkle of freckles across the young man’s nose. She found him to be very handsome in a non-traditional way, not at all like the young men she usually found to be handsome. He was too dark, his hair too long...he would never have fit in at any of the parties she had attended in the city, but he was so...there was just no other word she could think of to describe him except that he was handsome. But as Dawn did her best to be ladylike and not stare at the half naked, handsome young man, it was the muscles on the young man’s arms...his naked arms that truly drew her full attention. His arms were magnificent! She had never seen anything so manly in all her life. Her cheeks turned bright red as the thought of running her bare hands up his arms flitted across her mind. She felt a heat like she had never felt before rush through her which only made the blush on her cheeks intensify. Dawn brought her gloved hand up to hide her smile. 

The man came in with a yell. “Aunt Lily!!! I fixed the shoes on your…” 

Sunny had been happy to come and let his aunt know that he had fixed her horse’s shoes for her, free of charge of course, in less time than he had figured. He knew she was hoping to head to the nearby town of Knight’s Cross to purchase some very exclusive ribbons that she knew Mary June had managed to get imported from Italy. While the two towns were rivals, the dressmaker in Knight’s Cross and the hat maker in King’s Veil, were good friends. Sunny’s aunt had planned to make the four hour trip there and back, starting yesterday, but her horse had thrown a shoe. Sunny’s voice trailed off as his gold colored eyes took in two young women he didn’t recognize in his aunt’s shop. His attention was immediately drawn to the blonde wearing one of his aunt’s pink hat creations. He stared in stunned silence. She looked like an angel...or a fairy just like from the stories his aunt had told him. The young woman was like a sunstone, soft and beautiful, and the light that came into the shop made her glow like some ethereal. 

Mrs. Hodges gasped. “Oh Sunny.” 

She looked between her customers and her nephew. “Forgive Sunny, he is accustomed to people in here being townsfolk who are used to his, excentricities. 

Marianne smiled. “Oh that’s fine, especially since we are going to be part of the town.” 

She nodded to Sunny. Marianne found his lack of clothing odd, but he was clearly a blacksmith or some other similar trade and she wasn’t going to hold it against him. Blacksmithing was a very good, respectable trade. She put her hand out to him. Sunny still had his eyes on Dawn., (Marianne noticed the smith’s reaction with a smirk. Lots of young men fell head over heels for Dawn. She was pretty, jovial, sweet, what any young man would want in a wife). The young man started to take Marianne’s hand with his gloved one until his aunt cleared her throat. Sunny glanced over at his aunt then cringed when she looked pointedly at his glove. He removed the leather glove and once more reached for Marianne’s hand. 

“Sorry miss, I’m Sunny DuBois. I’m the local blacksmith.” Sunny smiled showing off a nearly perfect white, straight toothed smile. 

Marianne smiled in response. “I’m Marianne Summerfield and this…” She motioned at Dawn who stood up and offered her hand. “Is my little sister Dawn.” 

Sunny took Dawn’s hand, but his eyes were fixed on her face. Now seeing her closer he realized that she was even more beautiful than he had realized. He swallowed and surprised himself and 

Dawn when he leaned down and very lightly kissed her knuckles followed by a whispered. “It’s a pleasure Miss Dawn.” 

Dawn blushed so brightly she almost blended in with the hat on her head. “Oh, yes it’s a pleasure Mr. DuBois.” 

Sunny stepped back releasing her hand. “I do apologize...ah...may I ask a very forward question?” He looked between the two sisters. Marianne nodded her assent.. 

“Are you both going to be at Mrs. King’s party tonight?” Sunny smiled, his golden eyes hopeful. 

Dawn spoke up. “Yes, yes we are! Are you going to be there too Mr. DuBois?” 

Sunny blushed glancing down at his boots as he nodded. “I am...pretty much the whole town will be. No one likes to miss a King party unless they’re a saphead.” 

Mrs. Hodges gasped, but she couldn’t quite keep the chuckle out of her voice. “Sunny! Language!” 

Sunny grinned. “Sorry Aunt Lily. Well, I...I, ah...looking forward to seeing you both there.” Sunny tipped an imaginary hat at the three ladies before he turned and stepped out. 

Mrs. Hodges smiled. “Please forgive him. I did my best to raise him after his parents were killed, but I never was meant to have children. I have far too light a hand when it came to discipline. My husband was the same way. We doted on the boy and never could tell him no. It’s a miracle he turned out as good and industrious as he is.” 

Marianne smiled. “You don’t have to apologize. He was very polite.” 

Dawn’s voice was wistful. “Yes, yes he was, very polite.” 

Marianne turned to look at her sister with a slight smirk. She had seen her little sister fall head over heels before, but there was definitely something different about her expression...Marianne shrugged. She didn’t feel like dipping a toe into her sister’s imagined love life. 

* 

Bog slid gracefully off his horse, and tossed his mount’s reins over the hitching post, but didn’t bother to tie them. He knew Balrog wouldn’t wander off; he was a smart and loyal horse. He walked a few steps away, watching all the activity while he pulled out the silver cigarette case from his inside coat pocket. The case was old, having been his father’s and bore the King family coat of arms. Bog rubbed his thumb over it thinking briefly of his father before his flicked the case open. Bog bought his cigarettes at the general store in their packages. He had started collecting the cards contained in the packaging on a whim and now collected almost obsessively. He had one card, a card he particularly liked--it was a little bit of a scandalous illustration of a young brunette woman dressed in tights, a short skirt and a lavender corset. Her hair was done up in a stylish way with ringlets and curls. He kept the card in the drawer of his desk at the jail, but what made him blush as he thought about the damn picture, was that it looked a great deal like the young woman he saw come into town this morning...a very great deal like her. 

Bog swallowed and occupied himself with lighting his cigarette and trying not to think of pretty brunettes. He was holding the match to his cigarette when he saw Roy come around the side of the hotel carrying a bucket of water. 

Bog took a few puffs, shaking the match out as he called out. “Roy!” 

The young man turned around and saw Bog. His expression, which had been fairly neutral as he focused on his work, turned into a smile. Roy liked the sheriff a lot. Bog was gruff and could be a bit cold, but Roy knew that Bog was kind at heart. Bog had taught him how to shoot and had even taken the time to teach him how to ride a horse properly. The tall lawman, to Roy, was like the big brother he didn’t have. 

Roy came on over, carrying his bucket. “Hey Sheriff!” 

Bog took a deep drag on his cigarette, holding the burning smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before he answered. “Roy, how many times do I have to tell you to just call me Bog?” 

Roy blushed. “Sorry sir...I mean Bog.” 

Bog chuckled. “You think you can water Balrog here, maybe rustle up a treat too?” 

Roy grinned. “Sure thing Sh...Bog. Martha just brought in a scad of apples for tonight's party and I’m sure the cook can spare one for Balrog.” 

Bog nodded and smiled. “A party, eh? Since when was there going to be a party?” 

Bog tried to be causal as he asked, letting smoke drift softly from between his lips and relaxing his stance. He didn’t want to let Roy know how upset he was; it never did anyone any good to realize the sheriff was upset by a party, especially by a party his own mother was throwing. 

“Well, Mrs. King is throwing a party for the new family that arrived this morning sir. Dagda Summerfield and his two daughters, Marianne and Dawn Summerfield.” Roy leaned in a little like he was telling Bog a secret. “I think she is hoping to play a little matchmaker since Mr. Summerfield’s daughter are unmarried, though I heard from Martha that the eldest daughter, Miss Marianne, is a spinster. She thinks the eldest daughter was going to be married and something went wrong, so her Papa moved them here...at least that’s what Martha heard from the kitchen staff.” 

Bog nodded, taking a leisurely drag on his cigarette. “Now Roy, you know it ain’t proper to be slangandering about guests.” 

Roy blushed. “I was just listening, I didn’t say anything.” 

Bog smiled. “It’s okay Roy. Why don’t you go on and do whatever it is yer gonna do with that water and take care of Balrog. You know where my Mam is at the moment?” 

Roy motioned with his shoulder. “She’s inside supervising in the kitchen sir.” 

Bog smiled. “Thanks Roy.” 

He sighed and took off toward the hotel entrance to see what mischief his mother was up to for tonight. He already knew what she was up to, but he also knew he needed to confirm his worst fears. 

* 

Inside the kitchen Griselda leaned over the oven and took a deep breath through her nose, smelling the cooking beef roasting inside the oven. She smiled over at her cook, a woman older than Griselda by a decade named Elizabeth Reed. 

Elizabeth waited patiently, her hands in the pockets of her skirt. 

Griselda nodded. “It smells divine Elizabeth, just divine.” 

Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you Griselda.” 

Griselda looked around. She could see a few of the other cooking staff working, a young man was peeling apples while a young woman--more of a girl than a woman, really--was busy making brandy peach pastries for tonight's party. 

Griselda grinned clapping her hands lightly. “This is going to be such a wonderful party!” 

She heard someone behind her clear their throat followed by the gruff sound of which was accompanied by the scent of cigarette smoke. “Mam.” 

Griselda turned around and narrowed her eyes at her son, his tall, lanky form filling up the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Bog King! What have I told you about smoking in the hotel!!” Griselda advanced on her son turning him around and forcing the sheriff out of the kitchen doorway to the amusement of the kitchen staff. 

Bog sighed, letting his mother shove him out the front door of the hotel before he put on the force to stop his mother from shoving him further. He turned around to glare at her. 

“All right Mam, what are you doing? Word around town is that you are planning a party,” Bog growled. 

His mother looked up at him with her hands on her hips. “And what if I am?” 

Bog glared down at his mother, smoke flowing from his nostrils as he held his lips in a tight thin line. “I hope you’re not expecting me, ‘cos I ain’t coming.” His jaw muscles tightened slightly. 

Griselda narrowed her eyes and reached up to poke her son in the chest. “As the sheriff of King’s Veil, Bog King, you are too coming. This is a party to welcome our new residents. You are the law around these parts, son--so you are coming to the party.” 

Bog tossed his cigarette angrily down onto the porch and stamped it out with the toe of his boot. “I know exactly what yer doin’ Mam. Two pretty girls came into town and yer trying to get me to talk to them. Well, it ain’t going to happen.” 

Griselda sighed. “Bog, stop being so damn stubborn. It won’t kill you to meet a couple of pretty young women. You never know…” Griselda snarled. “Don’t you talk to me like that Bog Fergus Leslie King! You may be sheriff, but you are still my son and you will mind your P’s and Q’s! You will come to this party to represent this family and meet a couple of lovely young women or so help me God Bog, I will find you and I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug! Then I’ll drag yer skinny buttocks here myself.” 

Bog glared at his mother who glared right back when they both heard someone clear their throat. Bog and his mother turned at the same time to see Marianne and Dawn standing at the bottom of the steps. 

Bog’s eyes widened in surprise. This close, the brown-haired woman was even prettier than he had seen earlier when the Summerfields had entered the town. 

Marianne smiled at them. “Sorry to interrupt.” 

Griselda smiled pleasantly in return, her irritation with her son no longer apparent in her expression or tone. “Oh you weren’t interrupting anything important dear. And let me introduce my son, the town’s sheriff. Bog, this is Marianne and Dawn Summerfield, King’s Veil’s newest residents.” 

Bog swallowed. He began to open his mouth then caught himself, taking his hat off and holding it to his chest as he stepped closer and offered his hand. “Sorry Miss Summerfield,” he said with a tight smile. He started again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Marianne took his hand without thinking how she and her sister had removed their gloves after leaving the hat shop, which meant his bare hand would be in hers. She looked up into his eyes. They were such a startling shade of blue, like a bright summer’s day when the sky was cloudless; standing this close and looking into those eyes was hypnotic she realized. This close she could also see the rough lines of his face. There were four deep scars along his chin, two of which cut through part of his lower lip. His nose and chin were both long and sharper than she had realized from her vantage in the coach earlier, but those sharp features and scars did nothing to take away from his appeal. His hair was black as midnight, thick , soft looking, and a little longer than she had seen the men in the city wear their hair, brushing the collar of his shirt. Marianne found that she liked it. She also noticed too that his hand in hers was rough, calloused, the hands of a man accustomed to working, holding a gun--not at all soft like Roland’s hands had been. 

Bog stared back at the elder Summerfield sister. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, her eyes were large, soft, and golden like the setting sun and her hair was warm and soft like melted chocolate. Her lips were perfect, curved just right and soft looking, like the petals of a rose. Her hand was soft, but there were places where he could feel the beginning of calluses, which he found intriguing. What could this young lady be doing that would start forming calluses on her delicate hands? 

After another second Bog realized that he had been holding her hand for too long. He nervously took his hand back and turned his attention to the younger sister. “Miss Dawn.” 

Dawn took his hand with enthusiasm and a bright smile. “Oh Mr. King, you simply must come to the party! Please? You could dance with my sister. I know she would love to give you her first dance of the evening, wouldn't you Marianne?” Dawn looked eagerly over at her sister who looked mortified at her sister being so forward. 

“Dawn! Really. Besides I’m sure Mr. King has many other young ladies he would rather dance with than me.” Marianne blushed and looked away, but Bog said softly. “Well, if Miss Summerfield wouldn’t mind, I would be honored to be her first dance of the night.” 

(Inside Bog couldn’t believe he had said the words that had just tumbled from his mouth!! What on earth was wrong with him?) 

Marianne looked up at Bog and smiled softly. “You would?” 

Bog nodded, taking his hand back from Dawn and putting his hat back on. He bowed his head a little and smiled shyly. “It would be my pleasure and honor.” 

Marianne smiled and blushed prettily Bog noticed as she replied. “Well then Mr. King, I do look forward to seeing you this evening.” 

Marianne motioned at her sister. “We should really go and prepare our dresses for tonight.” 

Griselda asked as Bog stepped out of the way to let the sisters pass. “Would you like me to send up some sandwiches?” 

Dawn nodded while Marianne smiled. “That would be delightful Mrs. King, thank you.” 

The two young women disappeared into the hotel and Griselda turned a smug look on her son. Bog narrowed his eyes and pointed a long finger at her. “Don’t you think there is anything going on Mam, ‘cos there ain’t. I’m just doing my job as the sheriff.” 

Griselda continued to smirk as she said softly. “Oh, of course not Bog dear.” 

Bog started to walk to his horse as his mother called out. “You better get out your Sunday best Bog dear.” 

Bog’s shoulders stiffened, she could see it and he hung his head slightly, but he didn’t say a word as he stomped back to his horse. 

Griselda grinned resisting the urge to clap, because that might have been a step too far for Bog to handle at the moment. 

* 

Later that evening, Dagda Summerfield was grumbling as his youngest daughter adjusted his tie. “I still don’t see why we have to attend this party.” 

“Daddy, stop!” Dawn said softly as she wrinkled her nose while working on his tie. She wore a gold and ivory silk and satin brocade dress with a delicate floral pattern of silk morning glories and silk faille stripes, and quarter sleeves with her trimmed in lace as was her neckline. Her blonde hair was styled in a thick, softly braided bun at the back of her head, held in place by gold morning glory pins. 

Marianne chuckled as she watched her father and sister. She was dressed in a pale green silk satin dress embroidered with silver threads and sequins with a train of gold silk brocade and fern leaf pattern. The dress had a fishtail back, was sleeveless and exposed her shoulders and the length of her neck. Her thick brown hair was up in a soft curly updo, nothing too fancy. Neither sister wore jewelry tonight at their father’s insistence since this was, to quote him, a gathering of who knew how many undesirables. 

Dawn sighed and stepped back patting her father on the chest. “There, you look very nice Daddy.” 

Dagda muttered. “I still…” 

Marianne giggled and piped up. “Daddy, I promise, you will enjoy yourself. Mrs. King has clearly pulled together a grand welcoming party. You yourself said the scent of cooking was quite delicious. Now be good and do try to enjoy yourself.” 

Dagda sighed in defeat. “Fine, just promise your old father you won’t be taking up with any cowboys or some such.” 

Dawn giggled. “Oh Marianne won’t. She promised her first dance to the sheriff.” 

Dagda gasped. “What?’ 

Marianne gave Dawn an evil-eyed look. “Daddy, now please, if you get your blood worked up I’ll have to forbid any drinks tonight.” 

Dagda made a sour face and muttered. “Well I suppose dancing with the sheriff is acceptable.” 

Marianne smiled and took her father’s arm. Dawn quickly moved to take his other arm. Dagda smiled, looking between his two daughters. 

“How did I get so lucky to have such beautiful, intelligent young ladies for daughters?” He smiled tenderly at both girls. 

Marianne giggled. “Mama said it was because you were lucky she agreed to marry you.” 

Dagda laughed. “That is very true.” He sighed. “All right fine, let us go and meet the town.” 

* 

Bog grumbled as he stood in his bedroom in front of a surprisingly decent sized mirror and shaved. He could have gone into town for a shave, but he had been so flustered by Marianne Summerfield that he hadn’t thought of it until much too late. He was standing in front of the mirror, wearing only his pants, a basin of water set into the table in front of him, with lather over his face as he drew the straight razor across his cheek. Whiskers among some of the lather plopped down into the water. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this, going to one of his mother’s damn parties. He glanced in the mirror to look at the bed behind him were his clothing was set out. He had bathed and washed his hair, scrubbing thoroughly in the iron bathtub he had saved for and bought himself just for his home. He also had soap, another luxury that he liked--being clean was one of those little things that had taken on new meaning during the war. 

Bog finished shaving and looked at himself in the mirror. He could see his torso, and where his pants were currently riding low on his hips. He could see the hint of the ugly scar along his hip put there by a bayonet from a Confederate soldier. The scar was wide and deep, running from the front of his hip bone and along the side of his hip where it had cut into his flesh. It had been painful and bloody. Bog pressed his lips together as the memory of the fight came back to him, the smell of gunsmoke, the sounds of bullets and cannons firing into the field mixed with the sounds of close quarters fighting and death. And there was the man who attacked him--Bog would never forget that man’s face. He was young, younger than Bog at the time with sandy blonde hair and freckles across his nose. Bog didn’t know if the boy had run out of ammunition or not, but he had lunged at Bog, catching him unawares. Bog wasn’t certain what had made him turn enough that the bayonet hadn’t gone into his stomach like the boy had intended, but Bog had turned at just the right time and the blade had cut into his hip rather than piercing his gut. The boy had expected to ram his weapon home into his enemy, but with the failure to stab his opponent in the stomach, he had lurched by Bog, a half-step past the Union soldier. The pain was blinding for a split second before Bog seemed to brush it aside, staying alive his only goal, had been his only goal during the entire war, to make it back to King’s Veil...to make it home alive. 

Bog had reacted without thinking, had turned his weapon on the other man, but when he pulled the trigger, nothing had happened--the damn rifle had jammed, so Bog did the only thing he could, he had flipped that rifle around and beaten the man with the rifle’s stock, first hitting the boy in the back of the head. 

Bog had raised his weapon and beaten the head of that young man until his skull had split open and his brains had spilled out along with the young man’s blood… 

Bog stumbled, his vision turning black on the edges. He dropped the straight razor to the floor where it rattled against the wood, to catch himself on the basin to prevent himself from passing out as he dropped to his knees. That wound on his hip was just one of several he bore, all from the war, but the memory of that scar haunted him the most. He had lost so many friends during the war, seen their bodies bloody and torn, their faces destroyed, their limbs taken, but it was looking into the dead eyes of that boy that he beat to death that brought Bog his nightmares. It was his pain, and his shame. He knew it had been him or the mysterious Confederate soldier, one life or the other, and that they boy had tried to kill him, wanted to kill him; but it didn’t make taking that life any easier. For Bog, he doubted it would ever be easy. 

Bog folded his arms across the table and laid his forehead against his hands. After a moment Bog began to cry, and his broken sobs filled the quiet room. 

* 

The ballroom of the Primrose Hotel was small by city standards, Marianne realized as she looked around, though she would have to say she preferred the smaller, more intimate gathering here to some of the large balls she had been to back in the city. Here she didn’t feel on display as she had felt in the city--here, it felt as if she was among family. The room had hardwood floors, the walls were papered with a soft white and blue floral print. The furniture were all surprisingly heavy, expensive pieces and clearly old. She wondered if the King family had brought these pieces with them when they immigrated from Scotland. 

A piano stood at the far end of the ballroom where a young man dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a white shirt with a vest (that looked around ten years too old), with large ears and white blonde hair was playing “In the Glooming” and singing in a soft voice. 

Marianne looked around, sipping from a small porcelain cup of hot chocolate as she watched the gathered guests. Mrs. King had already made introductions to everyone in attendance so far. Marianne had met so many people she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep everyone’s names straight, at least not without a lot of practice. She smiled glancing over to her father who was trapped in a corner by three widows; Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Coons, and Mrs Willis. Marianne chuckled. She had a feeling if Mrs. King had any say in the matter, Daddy would be married again before the first snowfall. Her eyes wandered over to her sister who was dancing with Sunny DuBois. The two of them looked so adorable together, Marianne decided. Several young men had been doing their best to get Dawn’s attention, but so far they had all failed. Marianne suspected that Mr. DuBois may have won the contest for her sister’s hand before it had even started. Marianne shook her head. Daddy would be delighted with he figured that one out. She chuckled into her cup. 

Marianne sighed and retreated to her own corner. Several nice men had asked her to dance, but she had refused them. She wasn’t sure why. Sheriff King had yet to show up. She frowned setting her now empty cup on a nearby table and sighed again when Mrs. King appeared like magic at her elbow. 

“Don’t worry dear, Bog will be here. He knows if he doesn’t show up I won’t let him hear the end of it.” Griselda smiled up at the younger woman. 

Marianne blushed three shades of red, feeling embarrassed ran her hands down the skirt of her dress. “I wasn’t waiting on him.” 

Griselda smirked, but didn’t reply. Instead she said softly. “That boy is hard on himself. Stays to himself too much, letting his thoughts go down dark paths.” 

Marianne frowned. “Dark paths?” 

Griselda nodded. “Since the war. I know he saw things, dark, terrible things, but he won’t talk to me. When he came home he was a wreck. Looked like a walking skeleton, haunted eyes. I thought he might have opened up to me, but when he came home to find his Da had passed while he was gone…” She shook head. “That boy needs someone he can trust, someone to make him feel safe enough to unburden himself.” 

Marianne felt her heart break for the man. She had heard stories about what went on during the war, the battles...the prisons...she shivered slightly. Almost as if speaking of him summoned him, a tall, lean shadow darkened the doorway to the ballroom. Marianne looked over and her breath caught as the light seemed to adjust around him, backlighting him as she saw Bog King standing there in the doorway. He was dressed all in black like before, but he had added a silver blue checkered vest and a deep red tie. She could see the guns at his sides, and the badge on his coat as he stood there for a few moments taking in the room, his thumb hooked into the pocket on his vest where his chain disappeared. His thick black hair was combed back and she could tell he had freshly shaven. The gaslight caught the gold pin in his tie and the chain along his abdomen. Never in her entire life had Marianne felt more attracted to a man than she did at that moment. The phrase “A tall drink of water” came to mind. She had heard Julia Williams use it at a party once, and all the girls had giggled terribly. Marianne hadn’t quite understood what Julia had meant until this moment, a tall drink of water on a hot day was delicious...and oh goodness, did that man look delicious! 

Griselda smiled and patted Marianne on the arm. “There he is, now didn’t I tell you that boy would should up?” Griselda grabbed Marianne’s hand startling the young woman as she dragged her across the room with her to where Bog was still standing in the doorway as if he wasn’t sure whether to come in or flee. 

“Bog! There you are! About time you showed up.” Griselda smiled. “Miss Summerfield here has been waiting patiently for you to show up. Haven’t you dear?” Griselda turned to look at her and 

Marianne could feel the blush burning on her cheeks. She smiled up at Bog and bowed her head. 

“Good evening Mr. King.” 

Bog stared at her. He had thought she was beautiful before, but now, dressed for the evening in a dress that highlighted not just her feminine qualities, but gave her a soft ethereal look...she was an angel. He swallowed and bowed formally. 

“Good evening Miss Summerfield. You look lovely,” Bog said softly. 

Griselda grinned. “Now, you two just wait a moment and I’ll get our little imp Wallace there to play something appropriate for a dance.” 

Griselda hurried off leaving Bog and Marianne alone together. Bog frowned looking down at his boots before he spoke again. “Sorry about my Mam, she’s a bit...busy.” 

Marianne laughed softly. “She’s sweet though.” Marianne glanced over to where Griselda was talking to the young man at the piano. “I miss my mother.” 

Bog leaned against the door’s frame. “I understand. I miss my father.” 

Marianne turned back to him. “You know, if you don’t want to dance with me…” 

Bog stood up quickly. “No. I mean yes...I would like to dance with you...I mean...” Bog calmed himself. “Miss Summerfield, would you take this dance with me?” 

Marianne smiled prettily at him and Bog felt something in his chest hitch just as the young man at the piano began to play a soft, slow waltz. 

Marianne put her hand out to him. “I would love to dance with you Mr. King.” 

Bog grinned at her and Marianne saw that his teeth were adorably crooked in such a stern face. His smile, timid but genuine, transformed his face into something extremely handsome. Bog took her hand and gently placed it on his shoulder as he took her other hand in his. His other hand, he laid gently against her back, the very tips of his fingers touching her bare skin where her dress dipped in the back, a testament to the length of his fingers. She felt a warmth rush through her as she stepped in closer to him. He looked down at her as he held her arm out, holding her hand gently in his own. 

“I should warn you Miss Summerfield, I’m not a very good dancer,” Bog said softly. 

He was so close she could smell him, the clean scent of him mixed with something she couldn’t identify along with the scent of the rich tobacco and the smoke of his cigarettes. It was all so oddly attractive, she thought as stared back into those heavenly blue eyes. 

“I’ll make sure to be wary of my feet being trodden on Mr. King.” Marianne smiled and Bog laughed, a genuine laugh that took her breath away in response. In that moment Marianne realized that this man had found a way into her heart without trying. 

He smiled and glided her across the floor, the rest of the room dropped away, her attention only on the tall, lean man who held her in her arms. 

* 

Griselda was smiling to much that her cheeks were sore. The two of them looked perfect together! Finally! A woman perfect for her boy. She sighed and leaned her shoulder against the wall, watching them dance when she sensed movement at the doorway again. She frowned, sure everyone was here when she turned to see Reese Knight darkening her doorway. The older woman scowled. What was that man doing here? 

* 

Marianne was enchanted as Bog slowly led her around the dance floor. She was smiling, the happiest she had been in a very long time when Bog turned and Marianne caught a glimpse of a man in the doorway and her blood ran cold...Roland? But...no, it couldn’t be him...the man standing there smirking at the room looked exactly like Roland, the perfectly oiled blonde hair, green eyes, but the clothing was wrong...and something about the way he stood was wrong. And the mustache he had seemed thicker. She watched in horror as the man who looked exactly like Roland, her ex-fiance, walked across the room and tapped Bog hard on the shoulder. 

“Ah, why don’t you let a real man dance with the lady, King?” 

Marianne blinked in surprise, the voice was similar, but that accent was wrong. 

Bog turned and snarled. “Reese Knight, what the hell are you doing here? I know you weren’t invited.” 

Marianne was struck silent. Reese Knight? 

Reese smiled condescendingly, showing off perfect teeth. “Why Sheriff King, my brother sent me a letter letting me know his fiancee had run to your little hellhole and asked me to check on her when she arrived. You know, keep an eye on what was his until he could arrive to take her home. Seems my brother had the right idea since here I am and I see you with your paws all over the young lady.” 

Bog snarled. “What?” 

“Your brother?” Marianne asked in astonishment. 

Reese smiled and bowed. “Didn’t my brother tell you he had a twin? I’m a lawyer in Knight’s Cross. I was sure your father would have told you that King’s Veil was near Knight’s Cross, the town our uncle helped establish...didn’t he? He was the one to send me a message this morning to let me know you all had arrived safely.” 

“No,” Marianne hissed. “No, he didn’t.” 

Marianne shot a look over her shoulder to where her father stood looking pale and not at all apologetic. She would corner him later and find out exactly what was going on. 

Bog snarled again. “You are not welcome in King’s Veil Reese, you know that.” 

Reese smiled. “Oh? I thought that little threat of yours was a joke.” 

Bog hissed. “It wasn’t. After what you did, you’re lucky I don’t run you out of town on a stick.” 

Reese started to laugh when there was a sudden howl outside. 

Everyone in the room went quiet. Wallace stopped playing the piano and silence descended on the crowd. 

Marianne whispered. “What was that?” 

The silence was broken by the sound of a roar that made Marianne’s blood turn to ice. 

Bog hissed low. “Fuck.”


	3. Dead in the Dark

Bog laid a gentle hand on Marianne’s forearm. For a brief moment he looked into her eyes and Marianne felt her heart tighten in her chest. She knew without doubt that this man was not only kind, he was brave, brave to a fault and he was going to go out there to confront whatever had made that horrible noise. 

Bog gently squeezed her arm before he released her and stepped back. He turned around to face the gathering who were beginning to mutter among themselves in frightened whispers. His voice was gruff and firm as he spoke. “I need everyone to stay here. Any gentlemen here that are armed, I want you to speak with my deputies, Thang and Brutus. Boys, I want you to make sure all the windows and doors are locked and someone is at them. I want the rest of you to stay in this room; don’t anyone of you leave for any reason.” 

Reese moaned a little when he spoke. “What are you going to do?” 

“I’m gonna go see what’s out there,” Bog stated with a slight narrowing of his eyes. 

“You’re not gonna leave us all in here defenseless are you?” Reese looked on the verge of panic. 

Hadn’t the man just heard what he said about armed men guarding the windows? Bog grabbed the man by his upper arms and shook him, his tone vicious and low, so only those closest could hear. “Stop being yaller! You need to think about the women and children that are in here, scared and unarmed and stop thinking about yerself.” 

He pushed Reese away muttering. “Damn bottom-feeder.” 

Bog started to leave the ballroom, heading toward the front of the hotel to face whatever it was that was out there. Marianne knew she shouldn’t do what she did; it wasn’t proper for an unmarried woman to simply reach out and grab the arm of an unmarried man (at least not in front of so many people) she wasn’t involved with, but she simply couldn’t let him walk out like this into who knew what danger. Whatever was out there sounded not just frightening, but large. She had read stories and heard rumors of the things that were out here in the wilds of the American frontier, but she hadn’t believed half the stories. Yes there were dangerous things out here, but nothing unnatural, surely she had thought. But after hearing that roar, her instinct told her she was very, very wrong. 

Marianne reached out and grabbed Bog’s arm. Bog stopped and turned, a look of complete bewilderment on his face when he look down at her. 

“Miss Summerfield?” he asked, his voice soft, confused, but oh his eyes were so blue as their eyes locked. 

Marianne froze for a moment, unsure of what she had meant to do by stopping him, but she hopped up on her toes and placed a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. It was a far too intimate gesture for two people who had only just met, but Marianne didn’t feel it was out of place. 

“For luck,” she said softly, then added. “Be careful Mr. King.” 

Bog blushed. Seeing a man with such a rough exterior blush from a simple kiss to the corner of his mouth made Marianne smile all the more. He really was such a unique individual she thought as he tilted his head to her. 

His voice was soft as he said, “Thank you Miss Summerfield.” 

He swallowed and headed toward the doorway. “Remember, I need y'all to stay put, don’t anyone come out unless I give the go ahead.” 

Thang called out. “Be careful Sheriff.” 

Bog waved a hand at Thang as he headed out. 

Griselda had her knuckles pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and her face pale as she watched her son step out, unable to utter a word for fear she would beg him to stay or start crying. Marianne watched as Bog opened the door. The man named Brutus followed him to the door, exchanged a word or two with Bog before Bog stepped out and Brutus closed and locked the door behind him. 

* 

Bog stepped outside. The darkness immediately seemed wrong. He could feel something in the air, a miasma that made the air feel thick, heavy and just plain wrong. It was mixed with something else he couldn’t put a name to, something that made the hairs rise on Bog’s arms and a chill race up his spine making the fine hairs at the back of his neck stand up on end. He drew his guns from their holsters, his thumbs cocking back the hammers as he stepped off the small porch of the hotel. 

He looked up to see the sky was still filled with stars, though a few lonely clouds slowly floated drifted in front of the moon to dim what little light there was in the sky. He looked down the stretch of road to the right, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. No lights were burning in any of the houses since nearly the entire population of King’s Veil was at the party. He was thankful for that--made keeping everyone safe easier, though it also put everyone in one place for whatever this thing was that had made that sound. 

Bog turned left and began to walk slowly, listening intently. He didn’t hear anything until he was half a dozen steps from the hotel and at the edge of the pitiful circle of light given off by the small lamp hanging from a hook by the door; that was when he heard a sound like a wheeze, like something that was having trouble breathing, like a big man with tuberculosis. 

Bog turned toward the sound just as a shadow began to separate itself from the side of one of the buildings. He tensed, waiting, a drop of sweat running down his spine. Bog narrowed his eyes as he tried to see what was lurking there… 

The shadow broke into a lumbering gait and raced at him as a chorus of howls issued from the monstrosity along with a half a dozen flailing limbs. The sight of the vile thing seemed to send out a wave of fear that paralyzed Bog. 

Bog’s eyes widened and for a split second he couldn’t do anything but stand there frozen. He knew what the thing was, had actually seen several during the war, a creature that was made from a mass of corpses all pulled together to form a single entity, a colony of corpses that some called a glom. The things formed when large numbers of fresh corpses were laid unburied...as often happened on a battlefield. He had seen the things in the aftermath of several bloody exchanges during the war, seen them tear a man to pieces, eating him as the man screamed, still alive. This one looked to be made of four bodies giving the creature four heads, perhaps six arms, all in strange positions about the monster’s conglomerate of pieces that formed its torso, but it did have four legs with which to propel itself. Bog had no idea how one had formed this close to town, but it didn’t really matter. The thing was here and it had to be stopped. 

At the last second, when the thing was close enough that Bog could smell the death and decay coming off the monster in waves, Bog shook off the aura of fear that the creature exuded and snapped up his weapons to fire. His shots were not aligned with anything vital as the fear paralysis hadn’t given him time to aim, but one of the heavy caliber rounds ripped off a hand and another smashed into the side of a jaw, but it wasn’t enough to stop the creature from slamming into Bog, lifting him off his feet and slamming into the side of one of the town’s building. 

Bog grunted in pain, the impact knocking the air from his lungs and one of his guns from his hand. One of the glom’s heads leaned close with its yellowed and rotting teeth snapping for his flesh. It snapped at Bog’s face trying to get a hold of him, but Bog brought his arm up, using his forearm to block the gnashing teeth. The teeth of the monster bit into Bog’s forearm, however. The sheriff growled in pain. The teeth would leave a bruise, but his coat was thick enough that the teeth couldn’t break through. If the monster had been armed with fanged teeth, it might have been a different story, but while it was a monster, the teeth in its skull were still human. 

The other heads were in awkward positions about the body, but all were trying their best to bite him. Bog pressed the barrel of his pistol against the head that currently had its teeth clamped around his arm and fired, while at the same time bringing up one booted foot to try and kick the creature off as two of its arms reached for him. 

* 

Inside the Primrose, a few people were crying, including some children, but the loudest--as far as Marianne could determine--was Reese Knight. He was standing beside her against one of the walls biting one of his nails, his eyes as big as saucers, and making noises like a whimpering animal. On Reese’s other side was her father, while on Marianne’s other side was her sister and Mr. DuBois. Marianne made a disgusted face when she glanced over at Reese, making a move to walk away when Reese grabbed her shoulder, practically hauling her back toward him. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he hissed at her. 

Marianne’s eyes flashed with fire. “How dare you touch me like that?” She looked to her father for support. “Daddy, did you see this man grab me?” 

Dagda sighed. “Marianne dear, please stay with us. There is no need for you to be wandering around the room. Who knows what could happen?” 

Marianne glared at her father. “So you knew all along that Roland’s brother was in the neighboring town and that Roland was on his way here?” 

Dagda paled a little in the face of his daughter’s angry glare, but nodded. “Yes my dear, I did. I wanted to give you and Roland a chance to reconcile away from the city and all the whispers.” 

Marianne’s eyes filled with angry tears. “How could you Daddy? After what Roland did to me, how could you?” 

Dagda sighed. “My dear, sometimes a young man has to sow his oats before he settles down...Roland was…” 

Marianne gasped in shock and disgust. “Daddy!” 

(Dawn and Sunny exchanged a look, but both remained quiet. Dawn had heard this argument before, right after the incident with Roland, and from their father that time as well. It had not gone well for their father and it didn’t look as if this time would be any better.) 

By now, despite the fear in the room, their argument was drawing attention from the party-goers. Griselda in particular was listening intently. 

Marianne pointed at her father. “You brought me here simply to try and put me once more in Roland’s arms?? I am not going to marry him father! Not now, not ever!” 

Reese spoke up. “Now, now, you are just becoming hysterical. You should take a seat, drink something medicinal, like a shot of whiskey to calm your nerves. You women have such fragile nerves, after all.” 

Marianne turned on Reese so quickly, her hand snapping out and slapping him across the face, he had no idea what was happening until he felt the sting. The sound of the slap echoed over the crowd with a few gasps of shock followed by several sounds of people snickering, their attention temporarily drawn away from the danger outside. 

Marianne pointed a finger in Reese's face. “You will not talk to me. Never again.” 

Dagda reached out for his daughter. “Marianne really?! This is unladylike behavior! What would your mother think?!” 

Marianne frowned at her father, her lip trembling. “Don’t you dare bring mother into this Daddy. Mama would never have wanted me to marry someone who didn’t love me and you know that.” 

Dagda started to speak again, but Marianne turned on her heels and walked off across the room. Her father started to pursue her, but Dawn reached out and stopped her father from going more than a step. “Daddy, you need to let her be.” 

Dagda sighed. “Why is your sister so difficult? Roland was just doing what men do…” 

Dawn frowned at her father. “Did you do that to Mama?” 

Dagda blushed. “Well no, but…” 

“Then Daddy, how can you expect Marianne to settle for less than that?” Dawn asked, her blue eyes wide and innocent. 

Dagda looked at his youngest daughter and sighed. “Your mother wasn’t nearly as picky.” 

Dawn laughed. “Mama was too picky, Daddy.” 

He leaned back against the wall with another deep sigh. Reese leaned against the wall beside him. “Don’t worry Mr. Summerfield, we’ll bring Marianne around I’m sure.” 

Dagda glanced at the younger man. “Please, shut up.” 

* 

Marianne walked over to Griselda. “Do you have anything that I could use to help Bog?” 

Griselda frowned. “I don’t know dear…” 

Marianne closed her eyes for a moment taking a deep breath. “I just...he shouldn’t be out there alone…why didn’t anyone go with him?” 

Griselda sighed putting a hand on Marianne. “Dear, this is what Bog does. He’s the sheriff…” 

Marianne laid her hand over Griselda’s. “I just can’t be a delicate flower, sheltered from the world Mrs. King. Please let me go help him. I can’t stand the idea of him facing whatever it is alone. I feel like that man is always alone...” 

Griselda agreed wholeheartedly with Marianne; Bog was alone too much of the time, protecting his town all on his own, like his father before him. She frowned in thought before she whispered. “I got a double barrel shotgun under my desk out front that Bog gave me to protect myself. You take that and head on out. It don’t take a genius to figure that gun out, so you shouldn’t have any problems with it; it's already loaded, so be careful, and there’s some extra shells in a box right beside it. You tell Thang if he doesn't let you out that I’ll tell his wife about him drinking that horrid corn whiskey that old man Daniels makes after she told him to say away from it.” 

Marianne nodded. “Thank you Mrs. King.” 

Griselda smiled. “Remember dear, it’s Griselda. Just please, be careful. If anything happened to you, Bog would never forgive me.” 

Marianne smiled and nodded, glancing toward her father to see that he was distracted with Reese while Dawn was speaking in hushed tones with Mr. DuBois. She hurried to the front of the hotel before anyone spotted her, slipping easily behind the desk as the sheriff’s deputy was distracted, looking out the window. 

Marianne found the shotgun right where Griselda said it would be along with several shotgun shells. She pulled the weapon out, hoping it was indeed loaded. She had never shot a gun before; her only weapons training had been archery and even that her father had disapproved of. If not for her mother she wouldn’t have had that. She stood back up, dropping the extra shells into her cleavage--one of the few times she was thankful for her corset--and looked over at Thang. She was trembling at the prospect of going outside, but she was going to be damned if she was going to just sit back and let things continue to happen to her. She was going to take charge of her life and do something! And right now that something was to go out there and help that man who had somehow, in such a short time, wiggled his way into her heart. She didn’t know what she was feeling, having never felt lust or true love, but she felt something and she wanted a chance to explore that on her own terms. 

* 

Bog went flying down the street, rolled several times gasping in pain when he felt something in his knee snap. He finally stopped rolling, landing on his side painfully, his shoulder taking the full impact of his sudden stop. The creature roared, it’s several mouths opening at once to create an eerie sound that he hadn’t heard since the war and hoped to never hear again. 

Bog pushed himself up, panting, forced to lean his weight on his undamaged knee. His left arm was hurt; he could feel them even if he couldn’t see the deep ugly bruises forming on his forearm. There was a bloody cut that ran from his right shoulder to his stomach having ripped through his vest and shirt to the skin beneath--which angered him more than the wound itself. These were his best clothes! He would have to go to the tailor and have a new set made and that was going to set him back a pretty penny!. The cut wasn’t deep enough to be fatal, but enough that it would need stitches, another scar to add to his collection. And his nose was bleeding, he could taste the blood on his lips, but the big worry all of this, no matter how minor the wounds, would be infection. This monster was a group of bodies formed into one horror and that could lead to another monster--a deadly infection. 

Bog couldn’t think about any of that at the moment as he held his position in the street. As the clouds continued to drift, the moon was revealed and casts its glow on the street as if it were watching the fight between man and monster and was helping by providing light to see by. Bog narrowed his eyes, breathing hard at the same time reaching up to wipe away the blood from his nose on his sleeve (which would have his Mam in fits), but the hand on his gun was steady as he raised his Colt, his finger on the trigger. The monstrous creature came racing down the road at him, moving with surprising grace and speed considering its awkwardly placed other limbs. Bog had kept a hold on his one remaining gun, his aim steady. If he could take out the main head, it should be enough to throw the rest of the body off, make it easier to kill...hopefully. 

Bog waited, waited for the thing to get closer. It howled at him in frustration that Bog wasn’t a easier kill. Bog rubbed his lips together, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue, it was almost on him, his fingers moved carefully on the trigger, when there was a deafening blast to his right. 

Bog’s attention was divided between the shotgun blast and the monster being hit in one of the shoulders of one of the torsos that branched off the main torso. The creature was flung backwards a couple of steps, its dark, congealed blood being highlighted by the moon’s glow. The shotgun double blast had also ripped off one of the creature’s arms at the shoulder and took out a section of the chest of the same torso, but with a monster of its size and nature, the off target shotgun blast didn’t kill it. Bog turned to see Marianne Summerfield in her party dress looking startled as she fell back onto her rear just two steps behind him holding the short barreled shotgun he had gotten his mother in her hands. 

Bog looked shocked, then upset. “What are earth are you doing?” 

Marianne smiled at him crookedly, pushing herself to her feet, her beautiful dress covered in dirt. “I’m helping you,” she said simply. 

Bog started to say something else, but Marianne shouted. “Watch out!” 

Bog turned as she pointed just as the monster slammed into Bog and lifted him off his feet again. Marianne screamed when she saw the creature, really saw it, and then the waves of fear it generated washed over her and for a moment she could do nothing. 

Bog hit the road hard, the air rushing out of his lungs in a painful rush. The monster leaned in, all its heads snapping their blunt, rotted teeth at him, trying to take a bite out of him while its five deformed hands tried to grab and tear at him. Bog brought his gun up, he had maybe three bullets left. He brought his pistol up and shot, blasting one of the four heads right between the eyes. He pushed up with his left hand, his fingers sinking into the dead flesh as he forced the monster back and shot another head, taking this one in the temple. His bruised arm holding the creature back was trembling as he turned his gun to another head and shot, the shot ripping through one eye. Each bullet wound covered Bog in blackish blood, decaying flesh and brains. He turned the barrel to the last head, the main one, the one he was sure controlled the distorted body of the thing, and pulled the trigger, but the weapon clicked empty. 

Bog hissed as he dropped his gun and fumbled at his side for his knife as the monster leaned in, jaws and hands grasping for him, coming closer, tearing at him. His arm was giving out and he couldn’t find his blasted knife. 

Bog called out. “Miss Summerfield!!! MISS SUMMERFIELD!! MARIANNE!!” 

* 

Marianne was frozen with fear. She had seen the creature and, while sickened and scared, she had still been able to fire the gun, but when the creature moved closer, close enough that she could smell the sweet scent of decay, that was when the fear truly hit her. The waves of fear that the monstrosity gave off held her in place. She heard Bog yell, but she didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Fear held her in an iron grip, making breathing difficult, her breath coming in small panic pants, sweat rolling down her back. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. She heard ‘Miss Summerfield’ being yelled, but it was the sound of Bog yelling her given name, Marianne, that broke the spell. She gasped, nearly falling over as her body became her own again. She took a moment to orientate herself when she saw Bog struggling with the monster in the middle of the street. It looked like at least one, maybe two of the heads were dead, hanging lifelessly against the mass of the torso, but the monster was still pushing down on Bog, its teeth gnashing at him, fingers clawing at him. Bog pushed back against its larger mass, but he was clearly losing strength, several of the decaying fingers raked across his cheek drawing a thin lines of blood. 

Marianne still had the shotgun in her hand. She quickly pulled the shotgun shells from her corset struggling with the gun as she tried to figure out how to open it. She dropped it, cursing as she also lost one of the shells. She fumbled with the gun, keeping a grip on the remaining shell when she hit something, a switch? She wasn’t sure, but the gun came open for her. Marianne shoved the shell inside, hoping she had it facing the correct direction and snapped the weapon shut. 

She pulled the gun up and aimed, only then realizing that she didn’t have a clear shot; she could just as easily kill Bog as the monster. 

She yelled. “BOG! CATCH!” 

She tossed the shotgun at him and prayed. 

Bog turned his head at the sound of her voice and saw the shotgun coming toward him. He reached out, holding back the creature with one hand while reaching for the gun with the other. Bog snatched the weapon out of the air, flipped it around and pulled the trigger. Bog watched as the shotgun blast ripped through the monster’s remaining head, tearing a hole through the front of its face, bursting out the back of its head in a spray of blood and gore. The monster twisted, listing to the side, the remaining limbs flailing around for a moment before it collapsed on top of Bog. 

Bog threw his arms over his face at the last second. 

Marianne gasped when she saw the thing fall on top of Bog. She lifted up her skirt and rushed over, dropping to her knees in the dirt as she struggled to push the monster off of him. Putting her hands against the rotten flesh, combined with the burst of smell from the rotting corpse made her gag, but she pushed until the creature fell over to reveal Bog. 

“Bog, oh my god Bog!! Are you all right?” She reached down to touch his face, smeared with blood and gore. “Bog?” 

When he didn’t respond at first she felt a tremor run through her...he couldn’t be...he just couldn't be! She cupped his face between her hands. “Bog, please.” 

That was when he made a loud groan. “I think I twisted my knee.” 

Marianne choked on a sob and surprised herself as she pressed her mouth on his bloody lips. 

Bog blinked in surprise before he gently grasped her upper arms and pushed her back. Clearly she was simply overwhelmed; no woman was going to be kissing him unless in such extreme circumstances. 

Marianne looked on the verge of tears, but she was doing her best to control them, though one single tear defied her to roll down her cheek. “Okay, let’s get you on your feet.” 

She stood up, her beautiful dress now ruined beyond repair with dark stains soaking into the fabric from the dead monster, along with smears of dirt and drops of Bog’s blood. He took her offered hand, pulling himself the rest of the way out from under the monster with a groan of pain. He pushed himself up to a standing position with Marianne’s help, hopping a little on his good leg as he tried to stand on his left leg only to have pain shoot through the limb and almost sending him tumbling to the ground again. If not for Marianne putting his arm around her shoulders and lifting him, he would have fallen face down in the dirt. 

“Let’s get you back, you think you can walk?” Marianne asked, her arm snug around his thin waist. 

Bog tried not to lean on her, but his damn knee was having none of it, forcing him to put his weight on Marianne. “Yeah, I think I can make it.” 

She nodded giving him an encouraging smile before they started to walk. 

Bog sighed. With his knee banged up, the hotel now seemed miles and miles away. 

Marianne glanced up at him. “You were very brave.” 

Bog snorted. “Not really, just doing what had to be done. I’m not sure whether you were brave or foolish--I’m thinking a bit of both, coming out here to help me. But that said, I’m glad you did.” 

Bog glanced down at her and despite the clear pain he was in, he gave her a smile. Marianne swallowed and looked away, her cheeks turning bright red. 

* 

Griselda had moved to the front of the hotel and was looking out into the night. It was hard to see with the gaslight and candles from behind her causing a glare on the glass. She glanced over at Thang who looked unhappy more than scared. They had all heard the gunshots, and now it was quiet. 

Griselda spoke softly. “Don’t worry Thang honey, Bog will be back.” 

Thang frowned and kicked at some imagined thing on the floor. “Yeah, I know, it's just that I don’t like him going out there alone and then Miss Summerfield went out there and....” 

“You have a wife to think of, and well, Bog’s right, someone needs to protect everyone here,” Griselda said gently. “Besides, I think Miss Summerfield is the type of woman who likes to follow her own mind, and I told her to tell you about the moonshine.” 

Thang began to reply where there was a harsh bang on the door. 

Thang and Griselda tried to look outside only to have them both jump a foot when Marianne’s dirty and blood smeared face appeared in the window. 

“Open up! Bog’s hurt!” 

Griselda was at the door before Thang had a chance to respond, unbolting it and pulling it open to see her bloody and limping son leaning heavily on Marianne who looked a fright herself. 

“Oh Bog!!” Griselda exclaimed. 

Bog growled. “It looks worse than it is Mam.” 

Griselda hurried to take Bog’s other arm helping Marianne to bring him in. Russell, along with the rest of the party came pouring into the front room asking questions. 

“What was it?” 

“Did you kill it?” 

“Are there more?” 

Bog stopped, which forced Marianne and Griselda to stop so he could address the crowd. He removed his arms from around the two women and attempted to stand on his own, but his knee refused to hold his weight. He listed to the side and Marianne caught him, wrapping her arm around his waist again, pulling the man against her. (Griselda, having a vision of a hawk in regard to anything concerning her son, noticed the young woman’s clear concern and...something else perhaps. Griselda pressed her lips into a thin line to fight the tug of a smile at the corners of her mouth.) Marianne held Bog up, her eyes darting to the gathered guests. She could see her father staring at her in horror, taking in the state of her evening gown and her hair, her evening hairstyle clearly in shambles. His face turned pale as he began to realize where his daughter must have been, only now just realizing that she hadn’t been in the ballroom with everyone else. She would hear about this later which she sure was going to be a long lecture, but she had a thing or two to say to him as well. Bringing her out here not as a chance to start over, but as an attempt to force her back into Roland Knight’s arms? She was horrified and deeply, deeply disappointed in her father. She knew he meant well, but this was beyond simple fatherly concern. It was downright interference in her life without concern about her happiness. Marianne turned her attention to Bog as he addressed the crowded room. 

“It was a colony glom,” Bog said tiredly. “And it’s dead, though some of you need to get out there and burn the corpse, and do it quick.” 

Reese frowned in confusion. “A colony glom? What on earth is that? You are making that up!” 

Bog sighed glaring at the blond man, clearly not in the mood for some fucking no nothing mouthpiece. 

Bog sighed and continued addressing the room after giving Reese a narrow eyed glare. “It’s an undead thing that forms when there are too many unburied dead. Look, I don’t know where it came from or how it got there and I ain’t going to find out tonight. Now get yer ass out there with a few others and burn the fucking thing,” Bog snarled. “Thang, Brutus, make sure it’s ash before the sun is up.” 

Both men replied. “Yes sir, Sheriff.” 

Griselda glared at her guests. “You heard him, get to burning, and the rest of you go on home. I’m sure Bog can tell you more in the morning, but as you can see my boy is hurt and needs to be tended to. Doctor Howard?” Griselda called out as she looked around the crowd. A slender man with round glasses and light brown hair stepped forward. Marianne frowned. She hadn’t noticed the man at all, he had the sort of face that was handsome, though also forgettable, blending into the crowd despite the fact that he would be considered attractive. 

“Doc, will you come with me?” Griselda asked. 

“Of course.” Dr. Howard came over to relieve Marianne, but she shook her head. “I would like to make sure Mr. King is settled myself.” 

Dr. Howard nodded. “Of course.” 

Dagda stepped forward. “Marianne, I think Mrs. King and the doctor can handle the sheriff. You should return to your room.” 

Marianne glared at her father. “I want to see him comfortable.” 

Dagda frowned at his daughter, but Russell spoke up. “You should listen to your father Miss Summerfield. That man doesn’t need the help of some delicate flower like yourself. You should save your attentions…” 

Marianne snapped. “I will give my attentions to any gentleman I please. I am not a child and I am not required to listen to you, Mr. Knight. Now if you’ll excuse me, the sheriff needs my attention.” 

Marianne turned her head away from both her father and Russell to look up at Bog. 

“You all right?” 

Bog looked a bit stunned, but nodded. “Aye, I’m all right Miss Summerfield.” 

“Please, call me Marianne. I think we are beyond formal titles at this point.” Marianne gave him a stunning smile that made Bog’s heart thump heavily inside. He smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond. 

Griselda grinned, delighted at the little exchange, but knew she needed to get her son upstairs. She motioned toward the stairs. “We’ll take him up to one of the unoccupied rooms.” 

Bog grumbled. “I’d rather go back to my own place.” 

Griselda glared daggers at her son. “You will get your skinny ass upstairs and you will stay under my roof so I can take care of you. You are not going to sit in that house alone. I’m sure Miss Summerfield would agree with me.” Griselda looked to Marianne for support. 

Marianne nodded. “I’m sorry Bog, but I do think your mother is correct, you need to be where you can be looked after.” 

Bog muttered, “I ain’t a child.” 

Marianne murmured softly. “I’ll be here to help too.” 

Bog looked sideways down at her and blushed. 

Dr. Howard motioned. “We need to get him upstairs and stripped. I’m going to run to my office for my bag.” 

Griselda nodded. “All right doctor--and thank you.” 

Dr. Howard smiled and hurried off as the two women began to help Bog up the stairs. 

Dagda muttered as he watched his eldest help the sheriff upstairs. “What am I going to do with her?” 

Russell placed his hand on Dagda’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Mr. Summerfield, we’ll get her married off to my brother soon.” 

Dawn, who was standing nearby, gave Russell Knight a dirty look that neither he nor her father saw. 

* 

The room that Griselda lead her son to was at the end of the hall from where Marianne and her family were staying. It was close enough that Marianne could come check on him but far enough that it wouldn’t been improperly close to the two young women. 

“Here, you help him to the bed I’ll go fetch come candles and get the gaslights on.” Griselda eased out from under Bog’s arms. Marianne guided him over to the bed and helped him to sit. He was looking grey around the edges, clearly the pain was getting to him. Bog sat on the edge with his damaged leg held out straight. 

“Here, let me help you get your things off.” Marianne reached for his coat, but Bog shook his head. “You really shouldn’t be…” 

Marianne stopped him with a glare. “Bog King, you need help. Not shut your mouth and let me help you.” 

Griselda chuckled behind them as she finished turning up the lamps. “I’ll be back with candles and a basin of water.” 

She left quickly, leaving the two of them alone. Marianne started to tug on his coat. Bog sighed and let her pull it off of him, groaning softly in pain. The pain wasn’t that bad, but he felt like he had been thrown around (which he had), and his entire body was going to be one big bruise. 

Marianne peeled back the destroyed vest and began to help him remove his shirt. The blood had dried a little and the shirt was sticking to him just a bit, requiring Marianne to peel it back from the wounds on the front, but soon she had him stripped to the waist. (Neither had noticed that Griselda had still not returned yet with the candles and water.) Marianne had never seen a man shirtless, not even her father. She tried not to stare, even with the bloody cuts across his front, his chest was...attractive with lean wiry muscles, just a little bit of dark hair on his chest… 

She dropped down to her knees in her ballgown to pull his boots off without saying anything, though her eyes kept moving up to look at him. He had a lot of scars across his arms and shoulders, and a few along his stomach. Some of the scars were silvery white while others were still an angry shade of red, though clearly well healed; one she was sure was a bullet wound. This was a man who had been through a great deal, she thought as she pulled off one boot before moving to his damaged leg. She caught a look from Bog, and saw his cheeks were red with embarrassment. 

“Look, a lady like you doesn’t need to be pulling off my boots,” Bog said softly. “I can manage.” 

Marianne gently lifted the foot of his bad leg and Bog winced. 

Marianne gave him a stern look. “Well, I’m here so you don’t have to try and manage. Now, which would be best, should I take the boot off quickly or slowly?” Marianne looked up at him. He still looked unbearably embarrassed as he said. “Just make it fast.” 

Marianne nodded and pulled. 

Bog groaned through clenched teeth as his leg was yanked straight and the pain from the twisted knee shot up his leg. The urge to mutter curses was strong, but he said nothing. Marianne set his boot down. “Now the pants…” 

Bog put a hand up. “Now that is definitely enough Marianne. The doctor will be here shortly. He can help me with that.” Bog was blushing deeply enough that his ears were red. “You are quite a…” He struggled for a word that wouldn’t sound like an insult, which was not what he wanted to do. “...strong minded person,” he concluded. 

Marianne stood, blushing herself and brushed off her ruined skirts for no other reason than to give herself something to do with her hands. “Well, lately I’ve decided that I’m quite tired of my life being planned for me.” She looked up at him to see him watching her, a very soft smile on his lips. 

Bog took a deep breath looking down at his legs. “I like a woman who knows her mind.” He winced; that sounded far too familiar he thought. He swallowed and tried again. “Thank you for your help Marianne. Not sure I would have been able to kill the thing without you.” 

Marianne smiled. “Thank you and you’re welcome, Bog.” 

Bog looked up. Marianne felt her breath being sucked away for a moment as she fell under the spell of his eyes. She was close enough to touch him and her hand even lifted without her conscious thought as the urge to stroke his cheek, (bloody and dirty though he was), washed over her. She didn’t lower her hand, her fingers stretched toward him. 

Bog said softly. “I think it might be a good idea for you to learn to handle a gun better. I’m assuming you ain't never shot before tonight?” 

Marianne nodded. “Never.” 

Bog nodded in thought. “All right then,” he said, with a firm nod. “Well, if you’re willing, I think I should teach you how to handle a gun, just in case there comes another time I need you to save my ass.” Bog blanched. “I mean my...my life.” 

Marianne beamed. “Thank you Bog, I would like that very much.” 

Griselda came in with the doctor right behind her. Her expression fell slightly. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she came back, but it wasn’t her son still halfway dressed, though she did note when Marianne saw them she took several quick steps back from Bog. 

Dr. Howard smiled. “Thank you ladies. Now, if you don’t mind I need to tend my patient. I’ll call if I need any help.” 

Griselda nodded stepping over to take Marianne by the arm. “Come along dear.” 

Marianne nodded, but she turned to look over at Bog. “Good night Bog.” 

Bog smiled at her. “Good night Marianne, and thank you.” 

Marianne blushed as Griselda stepped out of the room with her, turning to close the door. Griselda grinned at the young lady. “How would you feel about bringing Bog his breakfast in the morning my dear? It would be a great help to me.” 

Marianne nodded. “I would like that.” 

“Now, are you hurt? You didn’t seem to be, but…” Griselda asked as she took Marianne’s arm in hers. 

“No, no I’m fine--just dirty,” Marianne answered. 

“Well then, let’s draw you a bath my dear and I’ll make you some tea,” Griselda said softly. 

Marianne murmured. “Thank you.” 

“Oh dear please, you helped my son. I can never repay you for that.” Griselda hugged her arm. “That boy is all I have left in the world. I owe you so much.” 

Marianne blushed as her thoughts drifted to a half-naked sheriff.


	4. Books of Philosophy

Marianne woke up early, feeling sore all over, probably from the stress of the previous night. Her dreams had been a strange mix of frightening imagery, with strange and deformed monsters and a certain handsome lawman, his arms around her looking down at her with stunning blue eyes and saying in a soft voice and with that slight foreign accent curling around his words when he spoke: “Thank you Miss Summerfield.” 

“Call me Marianne…” she had purred in her dream, her hands sliding up under his coat feeling the texture of his shirt, the heat of his body underneath, a daring move she wasn’t sure waking Marianne could do without blushing. 

Bog leaned down closer, smelling of cigarettes and a spice that made her insides pleasantly vibrate and hum, sending heat traveling on a wild ride through her body until every nerve ending felt ready to explode. When the sheriff spoke, his warm breath caressed her lips. “Now, how I can I repay you for your help?” 

Marianne murmured softly, “You could kiss me.” 

Another daring move she wasn’t sure waking Marianne could accomplish. 

Bog had smiled, the light in his eyes dancing in a way that made Marianne think of clear blue skies across an open field, and in the dream he reached up slowly to remove his hat before he leaned in, his lips a breath from hers. 

“I think I can do that,” he said in a quiet, deep drawl, his smile widening. Her heart thumped hard against her breast bone…Marianne rose up on her toes, ready to be kissed; his lips were so close, she could see the pink of his tongue... 

And then she woke up. 

With the memory of the dream vivid and so strong that it felt more like a memory--and unfulfilled--Marianne stifled the urge to groan out loud by rolling over and burying her face in her pillow. She laid there unmoving for several long seconds, the remains of the dream drifting away to be replaced by hard, solid reality. She gave herself a few more seconds to chase the remains of her dreams before she gave up and lifted her head to glance over at her sleeping sister who occupied the room’s other bed. 

Dawn lay on her side, one arm dangling over the side of the bed. She looked like a sleeping angel, with random locks of blonde hair hanging loose from her braid and curled around her head. She looked so much younger and innocent asleep, not a young woman at prime marriageable age, but instead she resembled an ethereal beauty, a representation of innocence. Marianne smiled lovingly at her little sister before she groaned, turning her head into her pillow once more. Dawn made her feel ancient. Dawn represented promise, while Marianne herself now represented lost opportunities...at least that was how popular society saw it. 

Marianne gave herself a few moments to wallow in her self pity about being an old hag before she quietly pushed herself up on her arms. Enough feeling sorry for herself; she had things to do today, like taking care of the sheriff. She smiled, feeling the warmth of her blush spread across her cheeks. Marianne rolled her eyes as herself, turning around to drop her feet to the floor. She was acting like a schoolgirl, infatuated with her instructor--completely, irritatingly stupid on her part. She needed to put such thoughts from her head because she wasn’t getting married. She was too old and--she had concluded--just not the type to get married, she decided. And because of that she didn’t need to be having such silly dreams. Those were for Dawn. 

Marianne stood and walked over to the room’s large wooden wardrobe where she and her sister had carefully placed their clothing. She would have to change later as their father was taking both young women with him to go to inspect the construction of their new home. Father had said on the way out here that the house should be done in a few weeks. Marianne was excited to see the house. She had been privy to the blueprints having thrown in a few suggestions that her father and the contractor had thought were quite brilliant. She beamed in thought as she shifted through her day dresses, unconsciously looking for one that would highlight her best qualities. After a few minutes of efforts, she found the dress that would do just that. The dress was a green, French cut silk bustle afternoon dress with long sleeves and a squarish neckline that made her small bosom look fuller. The dress was in two shades of a green; the dark, a leaf pattern on the bodice and sleeves, concentrated with the lighter green silk of the skirt with its asymmetrical drapery and light, golden green fringe. 

Marianne grinned as she held the dress up. It would be perfect. She hurried and pulled out the other pieces of the dress, the corset, the bustle. It was difficult to dress and style her hair on her own, but she had taught herself the most effective and efficient way to do both. Her father had employed his daughters’ maids for these tasks, but Marianne always had an independent streak and liked to do things for herself whenever possible; dressing was just one of them. She wasn’t a fool, however, knowing that evening wear required more details. In those incidents she would be happy for help. But today was not one of those days, so as quietly as she could, careful not to wake her sister, Marianne dressed and put her hair up in a simple, but flattering pompadour style with a few loose curls framing her fey-like features. It may not be fashionable for the time, but Marianne liked the style and she could do it quickly and on her own which also made the style one of her favorites. 

Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she slipped on her shoes and eased out the door. She turned to look back before closing the door to see that Dawn still slept quietly, not once waking up. Marianne grinned and hurried down the hall and down the stairs, her eyes only glancing once toward Bog’s room. 

* 

Once she was on the main floor, Marianne could smell the scents of breakfast cooking, rice, fish and eggs. Mixed with the delicious smells of cooking food, Marianne heard a female voice singing loudly. 

“"O where ha you been, Lord Randal, my son? 

And where ha you been, my handsome young man?" 

"I ha been at the greenwood; mother, mak my bed soon, 

For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie down." 

"An wha met ye there, Lord Randal, my son? 

And wha met ye there, my handsome young man?" 

"O I met wi my true-love; mother, mak my bed soon, 

For I'm wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down." 

Marianne followed the sounds of singing and the smells of cooking to find Griselda who was standing at the stove turning rice and fish coated in butter and cream around in a pan while the cook, Elizabeth, worked at the large pile of dough, kneading it with flour covered hands. Martha was peeling and slicing what looked to be quail eggs next to a large platter of prawns. Marianne caught the warm smell of coffee brewing underneath the rich smells of cooking food. Coffee wasn’t something she had often, but she was definitely developing a taste of it. 

Martha glanced up and saw Marianne standing in the kitchen doorway. The poor young woman jumped to her feet dropping the tiny egg she had been peeling. 

“Oh, ma’am!” Martha gasped. 

Griselda turned while the cook looked up for a moment, dismissing Marianne to focus on the bread she was making. If guests wanted to wander around into the sections of the hotel that they had no business being in, Elizabeth didn’t care. She had far more important things to worry about that wandering young women. Besides, Miss Summerfield had run out last night to save the sheriff; the young woman had earned herself the right to go wherever she pleased as far as Elizabeth was concerned. And who knew, maybe this was the young woman to finally put a ring on that man’s finger. She, like Griselda, was invested in Bog’s personal life, having worked with Griselda for enough years that the boy was like one of her own. 

Griselda smiled. “Good morning, my dear! I was just finishing up making Bog some khichri, not his favorite, but he does like it and I thought the fish and rice would be good for him, help in the healing process. The doctor just left nice and early, stitched up his wounds and he has his knee wrapped up and on some pillows. Told him he needed to stay off of it at least a couple of weeks, if not longer. Even left some laudanum for the pain, but Bog is too stubborn to take it. I left him a bottle of whiskey instead.” Griselda sighed. “Bog isn’t very happy, doubt he’ll stay in bed more than a day. He’s a man you can tie to, but he is also as crooked as a Virginia fence.” His mother sighed softly. “Anyway my dear, this is nearly done--would you mind taking it up to him? Maybe you could convince him to stay off his leg, at least for today, maybe tomorrow? Maybe play some cards with him or read to him?” 

Marianne smiled with a nod she hoped was not too eager. “Of course. It’s the least I could do.” 

* 

While Marianne waited for Griselda to finish the khichri, Martha pulled out some biscuits, butter and jam, even poured Marianne a cup of coffee. The food was quite good and Marianne surprised herself by eating every bite. Griselda divided the khichri onto two plates while Martha garnished it with the hard boiled quails eggs, prawns and parsley. She set the plates on a tray with silverware, a pot of coffee, a small bowl of sugar, some fresh cream, and two cups. 

“There, that should be more than enough for the both of you.” Griselda smiled with satisfaction. 

Marianne paled slightly. “I just ate…” 

“Nonsense, a young growing woman like yourself needs to eat--plump up a bit--and besides, you are out here now. I think you will find that living out in the wilds builds an appetite, and after last night's entertainment, you need to keep up your strength.” Griselda lifted the tray. “Now, are you sure you can handle this dear? I can have Martha carry it for you, the stairs are a little steep.” 

Marianne walked over and quickly took the tray. It was indeed a little heavy, but nothing she couldn’t handle--she hoped. 

“It’s fine.” She smiled and turned to head out the kitchen. 

All three women watched Marianne leave. 

Elizabeth chuckled softly. “Oh, I think we might have found a woman that could make your boy happified Griselda.” 

Griselda chuckled. “I think you might be right Lizzie. That young woman is strong, stubborn with just enough fire to give him a hard row to hoe. Which is just what that boy needs.” 

* 

Marianne approached the sheriff’s room slowly, making sure to balance the tray. After making her way up the stairs, the tray had grown quite a bit heavier and her arms were shaking a bit; that made her angry. She had the feeling that other women out here were not this weak. Marianne made up her mind to fix that problem; she was going to be just as tough as any of them. Once she was at the door, she balanced the tray against the wall, moving her arms under it more firmly and reached for the door knob, turning it without considering she should knock first. 

The door swung open and Marianne stepped in. “I brought your breakfast Mr. King.” 

When Marianne stepped into the bedroom, Bog was lying on his bed, a smoking cigarette dangling from his mouth, a book in his hands, his knee bandaged up and resting on several pillows, providing Marianne a good look at his long, lean legs covered in a thin layer of dark hair. But what made Marianne stop in mid-step was that not only was he lying in the bed uncovered, but the sheriff wasn’t wearing his shirt. (She had already seen him shirtless last night, but for some strange reason, seeing him without his shirt in the light of day was...different. She could see the scars across his torso more clearly now, as well, a sight that intrigued her, she realized.) He was also only wearing his short cotton drawers of which both of the buttons were undone, lying open just under his belly and giving her an eyeful of dark hair and skin. 

Bog, who was propped up by several pillows behind him, looked up from his book, his eyes widening when he realized who was standing in his room, looking as beautiful as a wildflower while he was practically naked. Marianne stood still, a tray loaded down with breakfast in her hands, her eyes twice their normal size, staring at him. She stood in the doorway, fixated, her eyes traveling from his naked legs, slowly up to his face. 

“Ah shit!” Bog yelped in surprise. 

Marianne in turn made a squeak in the back of her throat, (his sudden exclamation breaking the spell) before she spun around, but not before she had gotten an eyeful of him. Just as she spun around, Bog began to move, though her eyes had focused in on the fact that his movement caused the boxers to slide just a little further down...Oh my stars! Marianne thought while at the same time hot blood rushed through her body burning her cheeks and ears before settling down lower where the heat settled and simmered making her want to wiggle and twitch. Never, in all her years, had a man made her feel so...wanton...and delicious. Marianne pressed her lips together on her smile. She had never seen a naked man and this was as close as she had ever been...She swallowed the sudden giggle that threatened to escape. Her dreams tonight were definitely going to be interesting. 

Bog threw his book at the table, missing it by an inch or two. The book slammed to the floor, taking the ashtray that had been sitting there with it. At the same time the book and ashtray plummeted to the floor, Bog grabbed for the blankets yanking them over himself, almost dropping his cigarette onto the sheets. He looked around frantically for his shirt, only remembering in the next second that his mother had taken all his clothing to be washed after the doctor had visited. Bog growled in the back of his throat with frustration before he yanked up the sheet to the middle of his chest. 

Bog growled. “What in the hell are ye doing walking into my room?” 

Marianne, her back still to him, said softly while smiling. “I...I brought breakfast. Your mother sent me up with a tray.” 

Bog frowned, pulling out his cigarette. His mother knew he was naked up here; hell she had told him she would bring him fresh clothing from his home this afternoon, but not to worry about...then he rolled his eyes. That woman was the devil in disguise, he was sure of it! After a bit Bog grumbled. “Ah...I’m decent...I guess.” 

She turned around to see that he had awkwardly pulled the covers over his torso and was holding the sheet up against his chest, leaving his arms and shoulders still bare. His legs were still mostly uncovered. He absently grabbed the blanket, yanking it over himself as Marianne had turned. Still, she saw the leg that rested on the pillow; the blanket was at an odd angle across his body, leaving his hip that face her exposed, allowing her to still see the cotton drawers he wore. She swallowed. 

Marianne decided to ignore the awkward blanket arrangement and the fact that he was nearly naked. Anything could be ignored if she focused on her manners, so she sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully placing the tray on Bog’s lap before she adjusted her skirt. Then she set about serving breakfast as if she wasn’t sitting on a bed with a handsome naked man who was smoking a cigarette. 

“Your mother said this was called khichri. I’ve never heard of it, but it sounds and smells delicious,” Marianne said as she picked up the pot of coffee and began to pour it, acting as if nothing was wrong whatsoever. 

Bog frowned as the sight and smell of the food made his stomach growl loudly in response. Marianne smiled at him. “It’s good you have an appetite. My mother always said there was nothing a good meal couldn’t cure. Do you want sugar or cream in your coffee?” 

Bog, still looking ten shades of embarrassed, muttered around his cigarette. “Just black, please.” 

Marianne smiled setting the pot down before she picked up the sugar and put several spoonful in her cup. “I like my coffee with sugar and cream. It’s a little bitter otherwise.” 

Bog muttered taking out his cigarette before he spoke. “I got used to taking it black during the war. Getting coffee was a luxury, sugar and cream was pretty much unheard of with our supplies...well, unless you were an officer.” 

Marianne nodded picking up her spoon. “Your mother thought it would be nice if I ate with you, to keep you company. I find that I agree with your mother on that topic, Mr. King.” She smiled sliding her fork into the rice and fish, picking up a small bite. She smiled happily when she took her bite. The food was as good as it smelled. 

Bog frowned and put his cigarette out with his fingertips. Marianne stifled a gasp of surprise when he put the cigarette out. She wanted to protest that he would burn himself, but since he hadn’t, she kept her mouth shut on the matter.) He set the cigarette carefully on the breakfast tray before he picked up his plate off the tray, holding it close under his mouth. “Well, just because my Mam suggested it don’t mean you have to Miss Summerfield. I’m sure you have other company you would rather be keeping.” He spooned up a bite, taking several and chewing before he set the spoon down and reached over to pick up his coffee. He chewed and said, “I’m fine. Doc just wants me to stay off my leg for a few weeks, told him I could give him today.” 

Marianne frowned at him. “First, I’m very happy to eat breakfast with you Mr. King, as I in fact do not have other company I would rather keep. Second, only a day? I don’t think that is something for you to decide Mr. King. You should listen to your doctor. You are the expert in protecting people and upholding the law, but he is the expert in health and the human body.” 

Bog had taken several more bites. He was fighting the urge to eat like he usually did, quick, large bites, a habit he had picked up during the war. (Unless he was with his aunt, she watched him like a hawk making sure he ate at a more leisurely pace. His mother just thought it meant she could put more food on his plate in her never ending attempts to “fatten him up.”) During the war, however, a soldier would eat fast because you didn’t know when you were going to be fired on, when the bullets were going to start flying. You ate fast because life was short, and food was to be taken quickly and not enjoyed, a necessary process. Granted, there had been a few nights where he and the other men could relax, enjoy their meager meals, gossip, tell stories, gamble, but those had been few and far between because if it wasn’t the other side trying to get you, there were creatures that roamed the darkness who would. 

Bog took a few more bites. He could tell this was his mother’s cooking and not Elizabeth’s. His Mam had a certain way about her food, he could always taste it, a certain care in preparation...not to say that his mother’s hire cook wasn’t good, she was, but Elizabeth just didn’t cook like his Mam. Bog smiled and swallowed his bite before he spoke. “This town only has me, a couple of deputies, and a handful of volunteers to protect them from themselves and anything out there that wants to take a bite of this town. But I’m the one that keeps things...steady. I can’t be laid up. This place needs me too much.” 

Marianne pursed her lips in annoyance. This man was certainly stubborn, she thought, though at the same time she admired him. He was dedicated to his cause, determined, and had a strong sense of responsibility and honor, all things that she found extremely attractive, all things Roland Knight lacked. Though Bog was certainly stubborn, and in one respect irresponsible, at least it seemed where his own welfare was concerned. She frowned slightly. Did he care so little about himself that he was willing to work himself to death for this town? Or was there another reason? 

“Maybe I should suggest to your mother that you be tied to the bed?” Marianne lifted a defiant brow at Bog before she raised her cup to sip her coffee. 

Bog smiled slightly, but snorted at her. “I’d like to see you try Miss Summerfield.” 

Marianne smiled slowly. “Oh, do not test me Mr. King. You’ll find that I am more than up for the challenge.” Marianne gasped in concern. “Mr. King, are you…” 

Bog coughed and hit his chest with his fst, the food going down in a hard swallow. “I’m fine...I’m fine…” He replied breathless, the image of her sitting on him playing in the background of his mind, stubbornly refusing to leave. 

Marianne took another bite, watching him with concern before she spoke again. “Perhaps, I could help you with your sheriff duties.” 

Bog took a large swallow of coffee nearly choking again and spitting before he asked, his voice a little high in disbelief. “What?” 

Marianne used her spoon to play with her food a bit while she spoke. “I was thinking, if you insist on continuing with your sheriff duties, that you should have someone with you. You can’t really expect your debuties to trail you around as your nurse all day. I’m sure they have things to do--but I could. Besides you did offer to teach me to shoot, perhaps we can roll all of it into one. There isn’t much for me to do while the house my father is having built is still under construction, at least for a few more days, so this will be entertaining for me.” 

Bog frowned. “I don’t...” He growled a little. “I’m sheriff, not some tour guide.” 

Marianne continued to eat, making the entire process look elegant. “Yes, I understand that Mr. King. I’m not asking you to be one. I am suggesting that I accompany you as a...helper, but that during this time you could teach me how to take care of myself, shooting, teaching me the dangers of living out here in the west, teach me about the town, the people...that sort of thing. After last night, I think it would be wise for me to know as much as possible. My father, sister and I are going to be living outside the main body of town, after all.” She looked at him pointedly. “I’m sure there are all sorts of dangerous out there. Isn’t that part of your duties as the sheriff?” 

Bog looked irritated. He wanted to argue, but she did have several good points. And he would be lying if the idea of spending more time in the company of Marianne didn’t sound appealing. But he also had to consider his mother. She was going to be wrathy when she learned that the Doc wanted him off his legs for a few weeks and he didn’t comply, but if his mother got wind of Marianne’s request, she would hound him until he caved to let Marianne accompany him, riding him like an unbroken horse. 

Bog sighed, a defeated man. “Fine. You can come with me tomorrow.” 

Marianne smiled with a nod. “Good, now you should eat up.” 

Bog shook his head. “You are a hard-headed woman and I mean that as a compliment.” 

Marianne smiled brightly. “Thank you.” 

She sipped her coffee. “You mother suggested I spend the day with you which I think is a very good idea...to make sure you stay off your leg.” She gave him a little grin that made Bog’s insides do a tumble that he hadn’t felt in years. 

Marianne set her cup down. “She suggested cards, or maybe reading, but I saw you were already reading a book.” 

Bog glanced in the direction of the fallen book and ashtray. 

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “It’s a...ah it’s nuthin…” 

Marianne stood up and walked around the bed. Bog watched her, she moved elegantly, clearly a woman of breeding and good family who shouldn’t be spending her time in the room of a broken old sheriff who was wearing only his drawers and laid up in bed. It wasn’t proper, but he suspected if he made such a comment Miss Summerfield might take offense, and he realized he didn’t want her to leave. 

Marianne knelt, picking up both the book and the ashtray. She set the ashtray down on the table while she examined the book. It was an expensive copy, fine leather cover, good binding and paper, this must have cost him a pretty penny she thought. She began to walk back around reading the title out loud. “David Hume: A Treatise on Human Nature?” 

She looked over at Bog. “Philosophy?” 

Bog shrugged. “I always had an interest in philosophy. My Da bought me that book on my thirteenth birthday. I read it every so often.” 

Marianne carried the book back with her and sat down again on the bed, though, since Bog was finished eating, she moved the tray setting it down on the floor at her feet after handing the book back to him. He ran his long callused fingers over the front of the book and opened it. He read softly, his accent becoming thicker as he read his father’s words. 

“To my only child, you will be more than I ever was son, you are the shining star in my night sky, the little piece of me I leave behind to make the world a better place. I love you, Da.” Bog swallowed, his eyes stinging. Bog caressed the page. “I took this book with me when I left for the war. It was like a good luck charm…” He sniffed and set the book aside, blinking to banish any tears before he looked back up at her and asked softly. “Do you read?” 

Marianne had been watching him, her heart aching for him. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him to return from the war only to find his father dead. She had at least been there when her mother passed. She didn’t think it had made her mother’s passing any easier for her, but she had been able to say goodbye, while Bog had held to the hope of seeing his parents again only to find his father gone, with no goodbyes, buried and gone as if he had never been. 

She reached out and brushed her fingers over his hand before she laid her hand over his and squeezed softly. “I’m so sorry Bog,” she said gently, her voice full of emotion. She wanted to hold him, but dared not. Bog surprised her when he turned his hand around and wrapped his fingers around her smaller hand. 

He wasn’t sure why he did it. Perhaps it was the feelings that speaking about his father brought up, the fact that she could truly understand the feeling of loss, or maybe he was just weak and stupid as always, letting his heart lead him down a path of future pain, but at this moment he wanted to hold her hand and take strength from the contact. 

Marianne squeezed softly again. His grip was firm, but not tight. Her eyes went from their joined hands to his eyes and her breath stopped. She swallowed hard, staring back at him. He was so handsome, rugged, scarred, not at all a prince charming, but Marianne felt her heart skip a beat when she looked into his blue eyes. He was flawed, but he was so beautiful too, she thought. His flaws made him that much more attractive, made her feel pulled toward him in a way she had never felt before. 

Bog stared back at her. She reminded him again of a wildflower, blooming in the vast prairies, strong, determined and powerful, blooming despite the odds against her, bringing beauty and color to a dark world, looking delicate, but with a core of steel. His heart did something he didn’t think it was capable of, it skipped again. Marianne was creating feelings that Bog thought he had buried, he was sure he was incapable of feeling anything really, but she brought out...he swallowed. Bog blinked in confusion, surprised at himself before he quickly came to his senses, swiftly releasing her hand. 

“Sorry...ah, so you were saying books?” He gave her an awkward smile. 

Marianne placed her hand back in her hand, immediately missing the heat of his hand. “I like all sorts of books. Have you read Mary Wollstonecraft?” 

Bog smiled. “I have. My mother has a copy.” 

Marianne’s feelings for Bog, her attraction jumped another step--an enlightened man. “What do you think of her writing, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman?” 

Bog smiled, leaning back against his pillows wishing he had his cigarette lit. “I agree with her. I think a wife should be a friend and companion. Men and women are equals. I saw women fight in the war, just as strong and determined as any man, some stronger.” He shrugged. “My Mam and Da were like that, friends and companions. My parents made decisions together, and my aunt, she owns her own business. She has never needed a man to hold her hand.” He shrugged. “It ain’t a popular opinion, but I think women should be able to vote.” 

Marianne raised her eyebrows at him. “You aren’t just saying that…” 

Bog snorted worrying absently at a cut on one of his fingers. “No, I’m not. A woman should have all the same rights as a man. There ain’t a difference between us except women can carry babies.” He shrugged again. “I don’t see why that should mean a woman can’t do the same things as a man. The women in this town, a lot of them do the same work as any man, they have to. Living out here, holding on to those old fashion ideas, just doesn’t make sense.” 

Marianne was beaming at Bog when he looked up at her. 

Bog looked confused for a moment before Marianne said softly. “Bog King, you...are a radical.” 

Bog snorted again with a chuckle. “ Nah, I’m just practical. Maybe even pragmatic.” 

Marianne giggled. “So what card games can you teach me?” 

Bog grinned. “Wanna learn to play poker?” 

Marianne’s smile lit up the entirety of her face. “Tell me Mr. King, what shall we bet?” 

Bog laughed. “Why do I think I’m about to lose my shirt?” 

Marianne gave him a sidelong look as she said softly. “You aren’t wearing a shirt to lose.” 

Bog blushed from ear to ear.


	5. Cards, Smoking, and Darkness

Bog and Marianne had been playing cards for several hours, both of them enjoying each others company so much that neither was aware of the passage of time. 

Bog laughed laying his cards down on his lap with a shake of his head. “Marianne, I swear, I need to bring you over for poker at my aunt’s place. Teach you to play some Faro too.” 

Marianne blushed. “I think you are letting me win Bog.” 

Bog smiled at her. “I would never do that Marianne. I would never show such disrespect to you.” The smile and the look that lit his eyes made Marianne feel warmth spread throughout her body. His smile, when it reached his eyes, was truly beautiful. She liked his crooked teeth, the scars along his chin that made her fingers itch to caress them, and his lips. A man shouldn’t have such beautiful lips she thought, such kissable lips. She pressed her lips together as Bog continued. “But the offer is real.Though I should warn you, we ain’t any of us gentlemen or ladies that play.” 

She blushed. “I believe I could handle your scandalous friends. I would love to play with you and your friends anytime.” 

Bog chuckled. “Well I’ll escort you this Sunday evening to my aunt's place if’n you like.” 

Marianne giggled. “You play on Sundays?” 

Bog grinned. “Forgot to mention, we’re a bunch of heathens, though Father Ryan plays with us every Sunday. He ain’t so bad for an Irishman.” 

Marianne giggled. 

“Miss Summerfield?” 

They both turned in surprise to see Bog’s mother peeking through the doorway. She smiled when she saw Marianne sitting on the side of her son’s bed, her hip pressed against his thigh, a sheet across his hips--the only covering her son had on. It took every ounce of her being not to giggle and clap her hands as they were very clearly getting along. 

Marianne seemed to only now realize how close she was sitting next to Bog who was in an indecent state of undress and this was his mother. She stood up, dropping her cards. “Oh ,Mrs. King.” 

Griselda laughed stepping inside and closing the door. “Sorry to startle you both, although I did knock,” she added quietly. “And please, Griselda remember.” 

Bog gathered up the cards. “What do you need Mam?” 

He did his best to keep the irritation out of his voice. He had been enjoying his time with Marianne. She was smart, skilled and pleasant to talk to. He couldn’t remember having such an interesting and enjoyable conversation with anyone in...well, a very long time, and he found he didn’t want that time to be over so soon. 

“I hate to bother you both but your father requested a picnic lunch for your little trip to see how your new house is coming along. I think he is wanting to leave soon.” Griselda sighed sadly. 

Marianne frowned, clearly upset. “Oh. I forgot.” 

She turned to look at Bog. “I completely forgot my father wanted to go and see how the construction on the house is progressing. We’re hoping to move in soon, hopefully in the next two weeks at the most.” 

Bog immediately piped up. “I’m going with you.” 

Marianne blinked in surprise, her face going through several emotions at once. She was thrilled he wanted to go--she wanted him to go and she wanted to spend more time with him--but she was dismayed because Bog needed to rest. He was hurt and he was never going to recover if he didn’t rest. She was also angry that he would be so careless with his health, but her emotions traveled right back to delighted because she really did want him to go. 

“Bog you can’t--your knee,” Marianne said softly, reaching out to lay her hand on his arm. (Griselda took note of the gesture with a suppressed smile.) 

Bog growled. “I can’t let you and your family go out there alone, not after last night. Yer Da is foolish to be going out there in the first place. I should be heading out there ahead of you, let you know if it’s safe or not.” 

“But Bog, it’s our home; it’s under construction of course, but it’s safe I’m sure.” Marianne sat on his bed again, reaching out and taking the cards from Bog’s hand. She set the cards aside and took his hands in hers, wrapping her fingers around his hands. His hands were warm, his fingers long and calloused. Her dream from that morning came rushing back when she looked from his hands to his face. He needed a shave, the scars that decorated his face stood out against his skin, but he was so deliciously handsome. She couldn’t recall ever feeling such an attraction to anyone before, and it scared her a little, made her nervous. 

She swallowed, pushing past the image from her dream where he leaned down to kiss her while his lips had looked so soft and inviting, (just like they did now), his breath warm, she could almost taste his tongue in her mouth, the warmth of his body against hers... 

Marianne took a deep breath. “You simply can’t come Bog. We are just going to go out there to see how the construction is progressing, since Daddy hadn’t heard anything from the foreman for a week or so. We are going to have a picnic on our front lawn and before dark, come back here. I’m sure we’ll be back before nightfall. Nothing will happen.” She smiled at him, showing him her confidence with the gesture. 

Bog glanced at his mother then back at Marianne. “I was out there a few weeks ago, but I haven’t been back since. Nothing odd was there at the time, but I should go to check out the site. After last night who knows what's been running around out there?” 

“Surely any of the workmen would have come into town if there was trouble,” Marianne said, looking at Griselda for support. 

Bog answered first. “Not necessarily. They come in to town every few weeks for supplies, but then they will leave and no one will see or hear anything until they send some men in for supplies again. I’ve been out there a handful of times to check on things, but--as I said--after last night, I think I should come with you.” 

“But your leg…” Marianne protested again and looked at Griselda for support again, but the other woman shrugged. 

“I think he might be correct Miss Summerfield. He could send one of his deputies, but…” She looked at her son who was giving his mother a stern look. She smiled and shrugged. “Roy should be here any moment with your clothing dear…” 

Bog nodded. “Good, I’m going.” 

Marianne sighed. “Fine, but you let me help you all right?” 

Bog opened his mouth to protest only to catch a stern, no nonsense look in Marianne’s lovely brown eyes. 

He grunted. “Yes, all right. But we really need to start you on your gun lessons soon if’n you are going to keep on insisting that you help me. Hell, maybe I’ll even give you a star.” 

Marianne smiled as she stood up. “Well, I should go change and inform our father.” She gave Bog a glance and a smile as she murmured. “I think a star would look stunning on my dresses.” She began to step by Griselda and through the door, but stopped, turning to look at Bog one more time. “I’m glad you’re coming,” she said softly as she gave him a sweet smile and then hurried off. 

Griselda watched her go, pushing the door closed after Marianne was in the hall. “Well, I do think that Miss Summerfield has taken a shine to you.” 

Bog blushed grabbing up his cards and began shuffling them nervously looking annoyed. “She’s just being nice.” 

Griselda sighed. “Darling, you and her have been shut up in this room together for a couple of hours, and you never did put on a shirt that whole time.” 

Bog’s eyes widened as he dropped his cards and grabbed up the sheet yanking it to his chin. “Mam, yer a slink.” 

She smiled. “Oh Bog, stop. You like her don’t you?” 

Bog frowned, glaring down at the sheet. “She’s…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s different.” 

Griselda smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. She reached out for her son’s hands. “Bog, don’t close yourself off--please.” 

Bog frowned, glancing from his mother then down to his lap. “I just...Mam, a woman like that would never truly be interested in a man like me. There ain’t no use in hoping. Friends is all I can hope for with her. Hell, I don’t deserve that much. I’m a broken man Mam; I can’t be fixed and a pretty, intelligent woman like Miss Summerfield don’t need some old dog like me yapping at her heels.” 

Griselda squeezed his hands. “Bog, you are so hard on yourself. You are a fine, intelligent, upstanding man.” 

Bog snorted before he looked up at his mother. “I still can’t sleep through the night without the dreams Mam. Besides, I’m old, set in my ways. Miss Summerfield is young, beautiful, and smart. I don’t care what her Da says, or those stupid city folk, she isn’t a spinster yet. She might still find a good man. No, I can be her friend, but that’s it.” 

He took a deep breath and sighed. “Can you get Roy to make sure my horse is ready when he gets back?” 

Griselda sighed and stood. “Of course dear. Just...Bog, if something good comes your way, don’t you dare shut that door.” 

Bog smiled. “I’ll try not to Mam, I’ll try.” 

* 

Marianne had dressed in a deep emerald green riding habit with green leather gloves and a small rounded black hat, her brown hair falling in unfashionable curls around her face. She waited outside the hotel, already up on her horse, sitting side saddle. The horse was a gorgeous Arabian bay mare that her father had purchased for her before they had arrived (an uninspected gamble), but the horse turned out to be a dream. The horse’s name was Katrina Rose and she was a magnificent animal. Marianne smiled, leaning down to rub the horse’s neck. Katrina Rose neighed and swung her head happily. Their Daddy had also purchased a horse for Dawn, but Dawn had decided to ride with their father in the wagon since he was so grumpy. 

Dawn was currently sitting in the wagon with her father, doing her best not to laugh. Their father had not been the least bit happy about the sheriff’s decision to accompany them. He didn’t see the need for the sheriff to join them to observe the construction on the house, especially since the man had been there only days before (and the beast last night was surely an aberration, Mr. Summerfield had concluded.) Nor did he like the idea of the all-too rustic sheriff sharing lunch with them. He didn’t like any of it. Their father was even more upset when he had learned that Marianne had spent her morning playing cards with the man instead of spending her time speaking with Reese about Roland. Her father had told Marianne she was supposed to be trying to mend her relationship with Roland, not spending time with a lawman! He had argued against Bog coming, but Marianne had not only put forth a good argument, she had also shown that the Summerfield stubbornness ran true, and so her father had been forced to capulate. 

Now Marianne's father held the reins of the two horses that were pulling their small wagon, looking put out. Her father looked nice, dressed in grey slacks, a matching vest, a blue bow tie and black jacket, though the cut of the aging man’s jacket was at least a couple of decades out of fashion. He had his top hat pressed down low on his head making him look like a glowering goose. Dawn was sitting beside him, holding her parasol up against the afternoon sun. The younger Summerfield sister was dressed in a mauve silk and taffeta dress; the bodice and skirt were trimmed in lavender satin making her look sweet, dainty, and lovely. Dawn’s blonde hair was under a rather over-the-top hat Marianne thought, as it was trimmed with far too many white ostrich feathers, though she couldn’t deny that her sister looked adorable. 

Roy stood nearby with Balrog when Bog emerged from the hotel, his mother following behind him. He was dressed all in black, just like the day she had first seen him. The only other color was the white shirt he wore. He had sharved and his hair was slicked back, curling slightly at his collar. There was a silver chain that crossed from the pocket of his vest to the pocket of his pants, his guns rode in their worn holsters at his hips, a knife at his side, and his silver star was pinned on his chest. He had slid his hat onto his head as he stepped out, his boots making a soft thud against the wood, a soft ching to his step that was followed by another soft thud as he moved with a cane in his other hand. She couldn’t see whether his knee was bound up or not under his black pants, but she could see a slight limp when he moved. She could see the tension in him as he worked to control the limp. 

He reached up and tipped his hat to her. “Miss Summerfield,” he greeted Marianne before turning his attention to her father and sister. “Miss Dawn, Mr. Summerfield.” 

Marianne smiled brightly when she saw him, inclining her head. “Sheriff King.” 

Dawn giggled. “Hello sheriff!” 

Their father simply grunted. 

Bog walked over to his horse, Roy coming out of nowhere to provide a stool for him to climb up and taking his cane. Marianne could tell the stool annoyed him, but with his leg hurt as it was, he would need the extra help. He grabbed the saddle and pulled himself up and onto his horse easily; Balrog remained particularly still as if the horse knew it’s master was hurt. It only took Bog a couple of second to get himself comfortable while Roy put the cane in the back of the wagon with the picnic basket. Once he was settled, Bog gave Marianne a smile. 

“Shall we Miss Summerfield?” 

She smiled at him turning her horse at the same time that her father gently shook the reins and the horses began to pull the cart, their small group heading out of town. 

* 

Bog and Marianne rode a short distance ahead of the wagon. Marianne was doing her best to not smile quite so much, but the day was pretty, a clear blue sky (like the sheriff’s eyes, she thought not for the first time) with only a few wisps of white clouds. The air was sweet and the mix of fir, pine and other trees that lined the dirt path here and there were cooling. Bog rode beside her, holding himself in that causal way of a man who spent much of his time on a horse. He held the reins around one hand resting on the pommel of his saddle with the quiet confidence of a man who knew himself and his horse, his other hand resting easily on his thigh. Marianne had trouble not gazing at his hands, the hands she had held not that long ago. For his part, Bog had difficulty not staring at Marianne--she looked both beautiful and elegant on her horse. 

They rode in silence for a little while, Bog mostly waiting until there was distance between them and her father. He knew that Mr. Summerfield had taken a disliking to him for some reason and he didn’t feel like antagonizing the wealthy older man further by engaging in conversation with his eldest daughter, at least not within ear shot. Mr. Summerfield would be bringing work and money to King’s Veil, so Bog needed to stay on the man’s good side, but he wanted to spend the trip talking with Marianne as well, so a little distance was good. 

Bog glanced at her and murmured. “You know it ain’t really safe for a woman to be riding side saddle.” 

Marianne glanced down at herself, then over at him. “No, I suppose it isn’t.” 

Bog frowned looking over at her, his nose wrinkled slightly. “You should learn to ride astride,” he asserted. “It’s safer and gives you a firmer grip on yer horse. If she were to get spooked,” Bog nodded at Marianne’s horse, “you could be thrown.” 

Marianne blushed. “You don't think that would be indecent?” 

Bog snorted reaching into his coat to pull out his cigarettes. He held them up for a moment. “Do you mind?” 

She smiled and shook her head. “Not at all.” 

She watched intently as Bog put the cigarette in his mouth before pulling out his matches. She felt a flush creep up her neck and over her cheeks, her eyes glued to his lips, the way he held the cigarette...his long fingers...suddenly she was very warm. 

He rode easily, the reins held in his hand as he lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag on it before he continued. If his leg was causing him any discomfort he wasn’t showing it except perhaps a little tightness around his eyes. 

Bog sighed, smoke rolling from his lips as he spoke. “I don’t think it would be indecent. Indecent would be getting yourself thrown and breaking something, or yer skirts flying up over yer head.” 

Marianne giggled. “Bog!” 

He grinned at her holding the cigarette between his teeth and took a drag before he spoke again. “My Mam rides astride, as do most of the women in King’s Veil. I can get you a saddle if’n you want. Me or my Mam can teach you to ride; it wouldn’t be any trouble.” 

Marianne smiled. “I would like that Bog.” 

His cheeks reddened a bit as he took out his cigarette and let the smoke drift from his lips and nostrils. Marianne watched him from the corner of her eyes. He really was such a striking figure she thought. 

“How is your leg doing?” she asked with concern. 

Bog took a drag on his cigarette before speaking. “It’s fine. Been through worse,” he assured her. 

“Doesn’t the riding jostle it?” She frowned, worry coloring her voice. 

Bog shrugged. “Yes, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m fine.” He gave her a reassuring smile that Marianne didn’t believe. She could see a slight tightness around his eyes, and he looked a little pale where he did not before they had begun their little ride, not too pale, but enough that she was sure the knee was paining him. She sighed. Stubborn man, she thought to herself, but she smiled softly. 

“Let me know if we need to stop so you can rest,” she said in response. 

Bog nodded, blowing smoke through his nostrils before he spoke, resting his hand with the cigarette against the pommel of his saddle while smoke flowed from his lips. “I will Marianne, I promise.” He gave her a small smile. 

Marianne nodded pressing her teeth against her bottom lip. Why was his smoking so...attractive, watching his lips, the way he held the cigarette. She shivered. 

Bog turned in his saddle as he saw something and smiled before he pointed as they rode. “See that over there?” 

Marianne followed his outstretched hand. There had been trees along the road, but they had thinned out as they traveled by someone’s farm. In a large field, she saw something growing, she had no idea what the crop was, but it was a bright green. As her gaze traveled along the field, following Bog’s outstretched hand, she saw a large tree, one of the biggest she had ever seen. It wasn’t a pine tree, but a large tree with branches that seemed to reach for the sky. 

“Oh my! What is it?” she asked softly stretching her body up as much as she could to get a better look at the tree. 

Bog smiled. “An old walnut. It was old when we settled here. I think it’s probably the oldest tree in the state. Been here since the beginning of time I think. Might even been a fairy tree, since nothing can grow under or around it. My Mam use to tell me stories about wee little people being born from walnuts. Can you imagine? ” He chuckled. 

Marianne gave him a side look. “Is that a bluff, or do you mean it for real play Mr. King?” 

“Why Miss Summerfield, would I lie to you?” The smile he gave her made Marianne’s heart leap in her chest. 

Bog blushed. He wasn’t usually so...well, he wasn’t the sort to tease or flirt. He wasn’t really sure what was wrong with him except Marianne brought out a side of him he had thought dead, a more light-hearted carefree side that had died long ago. Guess he was wrong. He smiled taking a drag on his cigarette and blowing out a ring of smoke. 

Marianne giggled bringing her gloved hand up to cover her mouth. “You can do tricks?” 

Bog grinned at her glancing sideways. Marianne felt a rush of heat through her body at the sight of that smile. “I can. Nothing spectacular, but…” He shrugged. “I’ve been known to do a trick or two.” 

Marianne beamed at him, glanced back once to make sure her father and sister were far enough behind them before she said with enthusiasm. “Can you show me some?” 

Bog chuckled and nodded. “As you wish Miss Summerfield.” 

Bog took a deep drag on the cigarette, then slowly blew out a series of quick, small circles. Marianne giggled again, her attention once more on the man’s lips. Bog wrinkled his nose in a grin at her taking another drag and letting it out slowly. “Now this is called a French inhale.” He winked at her before taking another drag on the cigarette, holding the smoke in his cheeks for a moment before he slowly exhaled and breathed the smoke up through his nostrils causing Marianne to gasp, followed by a laugh. 

“The French do that?” Marianne asked with genuine interest. 

Bog shrugged. “There was a Frenchman that served with my unit during the war. He showed me how to do it, so I don’t know if all Frenchmen do, but Louis Reoult did.” 

He took another drag on the cigarette and slowly blew out a circle, he leaned close to the smoke ring and blew a smaller one that pushed through the middle of the first. Marianne smiled and clapped her hands. He did the same trick again, but this time he blew five small circles through the larger smoke ring he had created. 

Marianne glanced over her shoulder to make sure her father and sister were still far enough away that her father would not notice the tricks Bog was performing. She was sure he would say something about Bog being uncouth or some insult about him being common or something equally snide. Her father had no problem with smoking; he indulged in a pipe every so often, but since he was dead set on her being with Roland Knight, she was sure he would find fault with any man she showed any interest in. 

Bog took another drag, holding the smoke in his cheeks then reached up and tapped his cheek quickly creating a string of tiny circles in quick session. He followed this by taking another drag on the cigarette and blowing out a circle, leaning forward in his saddle and very slowly blew, the smoke gently wrapped around the circle creating a jellyfish shape. 

Marianne gasped. “Oh, that one is pretty.” 

Bog chuckled. “Glad you like it. I think I have one more I can show you.” 

Marianne waited eagerly as Bog smoked the cigarette, pulling him smoke and held it in his cheeks for a second before blowing out, smoke exiting through both nostrils and from either side of his mouth. 

Marianne gasped with delight and giggled again. “Oh, just like a dragon!” 

Bog laughed, a full laugh with no hesitation at all. “That’s exactly what it’s called.” 

They both laughed together, looking each other, their eyes meeting. Marianne smiled softly at him and Bog blushed, the red creeping up and over his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. 

From behind them Marianne’s father called out. “What’s so funny?” 

The spell between them was broken. Marianne turned to see her father and sister had caught up to them. 

“Oh nothing Daddy, Mr. King and I were just talking,” Marianne said with a smile. 

Her father gave her a sour look, which was only dispelled when Dawn gasped. “Look, there’s she is!” 

They turned to see that they had come around a curve in the path, the house coming into view. Marianne gasped. “Oh Daddy, it looks beautiful!” 

Bog grunted. “They got quite a bit done since last time I was here.” 

The house sat near a large, blue lake. The house was three stories with a tower, all in the Queen Anne/Stick style which included elaborate gables, criss cross and diagonal boards and decorative railings, balustrades, braces and brackets. A porch wrapped around the house, and though no porch swing hung there at the moment, there was sure to be one, along with a rocking chair for the girls’ father well before the Summerfield family moved in. 

The outside of the house was still covered in scaffolding and looked to be in the process of having the siding painted a dark green with the trim an even darker shade of evergreen. They could see the lake on the left and not far from that the vineyards where her father’s grapes had been planted. On the right, a little distance away from the house was the beginning of her father’s orchards. Everything had that new, young look to it, like children in their shiny Sunday clothes. 

It was clear a gardener had been at work around the house as well, with rose bushes trimming the sides of the house, and a trail of cobblestones leading around the house to the back where there was supposed to be another garden. But what made Marianne and Bog stop their mounts was not the beauty of the house or the grounds, but the fact that there was not a soul around. 

Bog frowned, lightly tugging on Balrog’s reins to stop the horse and signal for the others to stop as well. 

Dagda growled tugging on his horses reins. “Why are we stopping?” 

Bog flicked the remains of his cigarette away glaring at the house. “Where is everyone?” 

Marianne looked around, but she didn’t see anyone, anywhere. It was eerie, like the site had been abandoned. 

Dagda muttered. “They could simply be on a break.” 

Bog muttered, his eyes narrowed on the house. “Could be, but do you feel that?” He turned to look at Marianne, not her father. 

Marianne looked around frowning slightly. Bog was correct. There was something very wrong, she could feel it in the air. Her eyes wandered over the house, not a soul was in sight, but as her eyes drifted upward she saw dark shadows on the roof. She sucked her bottom lip in concentrating on the shadows. They looked like birds but something wasn’t right. 

“Something is wrong, I agree.” She glanced at Bog, their eyes meeting and her voice low. “The roof…” 

Bog nodded. “I see them too. They look like birds, but…” He shook his head. “Something ain’t right with them.” 

Marianne’s father growled. “I’m sure the workers are just being lazy.” 

Dawn hissed. “Daddy, really.” 

Something caught Bog’s attention from the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a figure in one of the windows, an arm waving. Bog frowned. The man waving at them was making frantic motions and began to point. Bog turned in his saddle, his eyes widening as he saw several birds in the trees, black, silent shapes watching them with their shiny black eyes. 

“Shit,” Bog hissed. 

Marianne turned her attention from Bog to where he was looking to see the same birds. She quickly whipped her head around toward the house; they were the same as the shadowed fowl on the roof. She turned her attention back to Bog, her brown eyes wide. Behind her, Marianne’s sister was following the silent exchange, her blue eyes widening in fear. 

Dagda looked annoyed. “I would appreciate it Mr. King, if you would refrain from such course language in front of my two daughters!” 

Bog snarled, his voice a low hiss. “Mr. Summerfield, I don’t mean to be rude, but shut up please. We need to get to the house and fast.” 

“Why on earth would we…” Marianne’s father began, but that was when one of the shadowy birds cawed. The sound was close to what a crow would sound like, but there was something sinister about the call that was quickly followed by the sounds of the other birds following suit with a round of threatening calls. 

Bog cursed again and yelled. “GO!! Get to the house! I’ll hold them off!” 

He turned his horse, putting his reins between his teeth and pulled his pistols. Marianne wanted to stay and help him, but she was unarmed and had her sister and father to think about. She ground her teeth in fear and frustration, but then turned and slapped one of the horses pulling the wagon and yelled. “GO!” 

The birds descended from the trees and from the roof of the house, swarming down on them like a plague from the Bible. Dawn started screaming as the birds dived down on them. She swung her parasol, smacking some birds out the air, but others broke through pecking and clawing at her. Their father whipped at the horses with the reins encouraging the terrified animals to move faster. Marianne and her horse ran beside them while Marianne flung her arm out trying to prevent the birds from getting at her face. She felt claws tear her hat from her head, her hair came tumbling down her back as the birds clawed at her hands and pulled at her hair. She tried to hold on to the reins of her horse, the side saddle making it difficult as she fought not to fall. Just as they approached the house, she turned to look for Bog. She could see him, farther away from her than she had realized, his horse on its back legs kicking at the birds at the same time that Bog fired his weapons, the sounds of gunfire echoing back at them. 

Back down the lane, Bog snarled pressing his teeth into the leather of the reins while Balrog screeched in anger too, the horse moving with his master, fighting the birds while Bog fired his guns. Bog may have had difficulty with his damaged knee but his horse knew him well and knew how to fight. Balrog moved with Bog, turning when Bog needed him to and kicking with his front legs when he needed to defend his rider. Bog’s blue eyes blazed as he fired, the bullets finding their targets, ripping through the birds, but he was running out of bullets and the birds were beginning to break through his defenses, coming in close and ripping claws across his hands and beaks across his cheeks, threatening to swarm him, to blind him if he wasn’t careful. He could feel blood running down his cheeks and hands, his knee was screaming at him, the pain raced up into his thigh causing a rush of nausea. 

Bog turned to look behind him, to make sure Marianne and her family had reached the safety of the house. He could see the Summerfields had arrived at the front porch of the house and were rushing inside, someone holding the doors open for them, others shooting at the birds that were diving down on them. Bog holstered his weapons, dropped the reins into his hands and kicked Balrog’s sides. 

“Come on! GO!” he shouted. 

Balrog took off toward the house, the birds diving down on them. Bog reached up and held his hat down leaning forward, his focus on his goal, the unfinished Summerfield home. He felt some of the birds slam into his back, threatening to knock him off Balrog’s back, but together he and his horse made it to the front of the large house. 

Marianne was standing near the doorway inside yelling. “Bog!! Hurry!!” 

Bog slid off Balrog, but his bad knee buckled and he fell, landing hard on the ground. Marianne gasped and tried to push past the man who was holding the door but her father grabbed her around her waist. 

“MARIANNE!! No!!! You can’t go out there!” Her father cried, but Marianne fought him. 

“They are going to kill him!” she shouted, the birds diving down on Bog, slamming into him. She could see blood on his hands and face. Balrog, who was bleeding as well, moved around Bog trying to protect his master while the other other horses screamed in fear and tried to get away. Marianne’s horse turned, whinnied and fought, trying to stay near the house and defend Balrog. 

The man holding the door hissed starting to pull the door closed. “He’s a goner!” and began to shut the door. 

Marianne did something terrible. She knew it was terrible, but she could not leave Bog out there to be torn to bits. She thrust her elbow back into her father’s face. She heard her father gasp in pain and his grip on her loosened. She broke free from his grip and pushed by the man at the door. She rushed down the stairs and toward Bog, her arms up to protect her face. Bog was trying to reload his weapons at the same time trying to keep the constantly diving birds from his face as he slid the bullets into their chambers. He looked up startled just as Marianne dropped down beside him. 

“Come on!” she yelled at the same time she grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. 

She started to drag him toward the house, but Bog fought her. 

“Not without my horse!” he hissed. 

Marianne frowned at him, but Bog looked at her with desperation in his eyes when he spoke. “Get Balrog and your horse inside. I’ll cut the other two free and keep these damn birds off you.” 

Marianne looked unsure then nodded. “All right.” 

She grabbed Balrog’s reins, for a moment the horse gave her a wild fearful look, but when Marianne tugged and Bog moved with her, limping back and began shooting at the birds, Balrog moved. She reached out and grabbed her horse’s reins in her other hand and moved as quickly as she could toward the porch. Both horses were reluctant to step onto the porch, but with Marianne’s urging and the attacking birds cutting into the horses sides, they followed. 

When she got onto the porch she yelled. “Open the door!” 

“Are you crazy??! Bring horses in here?” The man on the other side yelled behind the door. Marianne ducked as several birds flew at her and shouted in a furious tone. “Open the door!!” 

She heard her father’s voice yell and in the next moment the door was yanked open by her father. “Get in here!” he snarled, his nose and lip bloody from her elbow strike to his face. 

Marianne held out Balrog’s reins to her father, the horse walking in of its own accord, followed by Marianne and Katrina Rose. Marianne handed the reins to her shivering and crying sister turning back to rush outside but this time her father was prepared for her. When Marianne turned toward the door, two men grabbed her arms. 

Dagda hissed at his daughter. “This time you’re staying here.” 

Marianne gasped. “Daddy!” 

“Sheriff King can handle himself.”Dagda insisted turning to look out the window of the now closed door. 

* 

Bog got to the wagon, limping badly, where the terrified horses were becoming tangled in their reins, fighting against the traces as the black shadowy birds dived down on them. Bog holstered his guns, pulled out the bowie knife he wore at his waist, sliding the deadly sharp blade into the thick leather of the breeching strap and the backband, working on cutting the horses free. For a few terrifying seconds while Bog worked on the thick straps, the horses fought him, the birds dove, cawing and clawing at him, and the numerous wounds he now bore pressed in on him. Bog tried to block everything out except the cutting. He was not going to let these horses die, he was going to give them a fighting chance to out run this attack. If he thought he could have gotten them into the house with the others he would have, but he knew that having the two inside was going to be taking up a lot of room, stuffing two more horses inside would be bad for the terrified creatures. He could only hope they could out run these damnable demon birds. 

He ground his teeth in a frustrated snarl when suddenly the leather parted. Bog grinned and worked harder, cutting through the next set of straps which went far quicker. As soon as the horses felt the wagon’s weight freed from them, they kicked their front feet into the air, letting out terrified noises and bolted. 

Bog threw himself out of the way, landing hard on his bad knee, but avoiding the kick of the horses hooves as the two animals broke into a run, heading back down the path toward town. Bog pushed himself to his feet, saw several birds going after the horses, but the bulk of the foul creatures stayed right here. He turned as birds slammed into this back, threatening to knock him forward. He put his arm up to protect his face and began the slow, painful trek to the front porch of the house. His knee felt as it were going to buckle on him at any moment, the pain blasting up through his thigh and into his hip. The weight and power of the birds’ continued onslaught was becoming too much. He hit the front stairs to the porch and fell forward. 

* 

Marianne screamed. “HE’s RIGHT THERE!! You can’t just leave him!! He’s your sheriff!!!” 

She turned to look at the workmen who had been trapped in the house and her father. She was crying in fear and anger. “What are you?? A bunch of lily livered…” 

“Marianne!” Her father gasped at his daughter’s language. 

One of the men walked determinedly to the door. “She’s right, what kind of men are we if we let those damn creatures kill our sheriff. We all know Mr. King would do the same for us. I’m going out there for him. Who’s gonna help me?” 

The workmen were silent when one of them, a skinny young man stepped forward, then another man, a gingered headed man with a face full of freckles. 

The ginger smiled. “Let’s get him!” 

The youngest man held the door while the other three rushed out, lifting Bog up and carried him all while they took demonic bird attacks, slamming the door on the monstrous birds. 

* 

A half hour later, Bog sat on the floor, his back against the wall in what was going to be the Summerfield home’s library, his bad leg stretched out in front of him, his other leg bent, his arm resting on his elbow and his hat on the floor beside him. He had his eyes closed. The birds had stopped attacking the moment they were all inside. They didn’t try to break the windows, or to fly in through the chimney,; it was as if their attention was only on them as long as they were out in the open. Once everyone was inside, the birds settled back into the trees and on the roof of the house, he guessed. Bog moved himself into the library with Balrog, while Marianne’s horse was being kept in the unfinished kitchen. 

Bog sighed heavily closing his eyes. Every part of him hurt. Balrog bumped him gently against the side of his head. Bog opened one eye to look at his horse and smiled. “I’m fine, old man.” The horse huffed at him, but seemed content for the moment. Balrog probably felt nearly as bad as the sheriff, but he stood strong. Bog smiled and closed his eyes again. 

He had learned from the workmen that the birds had showed up only this morning. When the men had woken up in their camp and began to work on the house, the birds had begun appearing and within minutes had attacked. No one was killed, but… 

Bog frowned in thought. There was some connection between last night’s attack and this...he couldn’t even guess what could have caused these incidents, but...He sighed, he needed to find out and put a stop to it. 

“One of the workmen had some healing salve. He said it’s made by his wife, from beeswax, meadowsweet, mountain rose herbs, and chamomile. He said it should help with the cuts.” Bog heard Marianne’s sweet voice next to him and opened his eyes. She had come to sit beside him, her smile soft and beautiful. She had taken her hair completely down; it fell in thick, soft waves of warm brown down her shoulders. It was so soft looking, he imagined that running his fingers through it would be exquisite. He shook his head slightly dismissing that thought. 

She smiled. “I thought I could put some on your cuts and scratches.” 

Bog sighed. “You should take care of your sister and your father.” 

She adjusted her position next to him. “I had a feeling you would want me to care for them first, which I did. Now I’m here for you.” 

Bog frowned and reached out touching the back of his fingers to her cheek where a angry red cut marred her skin. “Marianne…” 

She smiled. “Before you start, I put some on myself. Now let me take care of you.” He nodded, noting the hint of something shiny on the cut. 

She glanced up at Balrog. “And you too.” The horse simply snorted at her. Marianne chuckled. “As stubborn as you are I see.” 

Bog snorted too, master and horse having the same sort of dismissive air in regards to themselves. “Taking care of me, seems like that’s all you been doing since you arrived in town.” 

Marianne chuckled softly. “True,” she agreed. “I suppose that just means you need someone to take care of you.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what you did before I showed up Mr. King, but you clearly need someone to watch over you.” 

She produced a small glass jar as she spoke, a jar that held something thick and slightly yellow looking inside. She dipped her fingers into the jar, coating her fingers in a small amount of the mixture before she reached out to very gently brush it across the many marks on his face. Bog hissed slightly when she touched one of the deeper bloody wounds on his cheek. 

She winced in sympathy; they looked bad. “Some of these might scar,” she said softly as she gently coated the cut. 

Bog chuckled. “Damn, gonna ruin my pretty face.” 

Marianne laughed softly in response. 

Bog smiled, her laugh and her touch eased some of the pain. “How’s your sister?” he asked. 

Marianne sighed. “She stopped crying. She has a few minor cuts and scratches, but nothing very bad--she’ll be alright. She’s calmer now, just scared, but Dawn is strong. I think she is moving from scared to just plain angry.” 

Bog nodded. “Your father?” 

Marianne made a face. “Well, he might forgive me. I didn’t break his nose, at least.” 

Bog tried not to, but he couldn’t stop the bark of laughter. Marianne had told him earlier how she had elbowed her father in the face in order to come help him. She was certainly a tough girl--a tough woman--a fighter. He liked that. 

Marianne smiled at Bog when he laughed and continued to gently apply the salve to his cheeks, then along his forehead and lastly along a cut across his nose. Bog watched her, his blue eyes following her movements. 

“You were very brave,” she said as she delicately applied the salve to the cut across the bridge of his nose. 

Bog blushed and leaned back against the wall again. “Nah. Just doing my job.” 

Marianne picked up one of his hands, laying it across her thigh and gently applied more salve, her attention on her work. Bog was suddenly very aware of the beautiful woman’s thigh beneath his hands, despite the layers of skirt. 

Her voice was low when she spoke. “No, that was going beyond your job Bog.” 

Bog swallowed and a blush creeped up his throat. He liked the way she said his name, the way she gently touched his wound. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She was so beautiful, just everything about her was beautiful, her voice, her eyes, her hair, her soul. He had never met anyone like her, ever. She took his other hand, applying the same gentle pressure before she pulled out a handkerchief to wipe off her fingers. 

Marianne looked up into his eyes. “I’ve never met anyone like you before Bog.” 

Bog stared at her when she echoed his thoughts, stunned he answered. “I ain’t never met anyone like you either, Marianne.” 

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, gazing at him. He really had the most incredible eyes she thought, the most beautiful lips… 

She reached up hesitantly, sliding her fingers along the side of his throat and into the soft hair at the back of his neck. She guided him down to her, her thumb resting against the corner of his mouth. 

Bog stared into her eyes, unsure if he was dreaming. Her brown eyes were so warm, soft, he wanted to fall into them. He glanced down at her mouth, so perfect, her lips so soft looking, she smelled so good, her hair brushed his cheek as she pulled him closer. Marianne’s eyes rolled closed as their lips met. 

Bog reached up, his hand cradled her elbow when their lips touched. She opened her mouth and he felt the warm caress of her tongue across his lips. Part of him told himself to stop this now, it was just the excitement of the day, but his body ignored him and his mouth opened, welcoming the gentle caress of her tongue against his own, lighting a fire he had never felt before. 

They shifted closer, their kiss still hesitant, tongues only slightly brushing against one another when a voice rang out. 

Marianne felt heat race through her body. 

Bog made a small sound of want, and his fingers on her elbow tightened. 

She opened her mouth more, wanting more. She could taste him, the flavor of his tongue mixed with a little tobacco, had her insides on fire. She began to return the kiss more earnestly... 

“MARIANNE Lillian SUMMERFIELD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” 

They both jerked back from each other to see Dagda standing in the doorway.


	6. Splitting with Tradition

“Get away from that man this instant!” Dagda Summerfield drew himself up as much as he could, doing his best to project the indignant father figure, but Marianne was not having any of it. She turned to glare at her father, while at the same time her cheeks were burning bright red. “Daddy!” she shouted back, jumping to her feet with just as much indignant fury as a young unwed woman could muster who had just been caught kissing a man who she wasn’t engaged to--which Marianne realized Bog was a man she would have liked to have kissed a little more thoroughly. 

Bog, still sitting on the floor, looked between them, his own cheeks a furious shade of red. He had never, in his life, put a woman in a compromising position. He always conducted himself in a gentlemanly fashion, but what had just happened with Marianne… 

Aww shit, he thought to himself. He wasn’t really sure exactly what had happened to put him in this position since usually he was so much wiser (or at least more practical) than this. Hell fire, just today he had told his mother that Marianne could only be a friend yet he had turned around and kissed her just hours later!! But Marianne was definitely...special. Bog searched his brain for a moment, trying to figure out if he had somehow cajoled her into kissing him, if he had put pressure on her or done anything unseemly to make her feel like she had to kiss him, but he couldn’t think of a damn thing. Not that it mattered. He had kissed her, and he had upset her father. 

Bog tried to push himself to his feet, to face her father, but his knee was having none of it and with his cane outside, he was forced to use the wall or Marianne. He struggled for a moment trying to twist himself up onto his good knee while not aggravating his injured knee. It was turning out to be just as awkward as he feared it would be. He focused on getting to his feet while Marianne was glaring at her father, the stand off between father and daughter having gone into silent glares. 

Marianne saw Bog from the corner of her eye trying to pull himself to his feet. She frowned at her father before she turned and reached for Bog, hesitantly at first (she didn’t want to make him feel weak), but Bog glanced up at her, a grateful look in his blue eyes as he took her offered arm. Marianne beamed at him, guiding his arm around her shoulders and helping him to his feet, her heart falling just a little more in love with him as she helped him struggle to his feet. They both turned back to face her father, Marianne with her arm around Bog’s waist and Bog with his arm around her shoulders. Bog winced, then his features settled into a frown. This was not exactly how he would have wanted to face her father, but considering the circumstances, he didn’t have a choice. 

“Marianne, I said to step away from that man!” Dagda stepped into the room, his hands balled into fists, his anger turning his ears red. “You are an engaged woman!” 

Behind Dagda, Marianne and Bog could both see the workers and Dawn. The men who worked for Mr. Summerfield were doing their best not to stare at the scene unfolding before them, but 

Dawn was gaping like a fish, her blue eyes wide with astonishment. Bog groaned internally. It didn’t matter exactly how this scene played out, by the time they got back to town, the gossip machine would have him dishonoring her, he just knew it. 

Marianne’s eyes narrowed, glaring at her father, her arm around Bog’s waist tightening. She was known to have bouts of pig-headedness which drove her father to his own fits, but she was not going to be bullied! 

“I am not engaged father! I threw Roland’s ring back in his face at the altar or did you forget that?!” Marianne tried not to yell, but she couldn't help it. The stress of the last couple of days, the new and wondrous feelings that Bog King had ignited and the rage and indignation at her father bringing her here knowing full well that the neighboring town held Roland’s twin brother, trying to tangle her in some plot for Roland to win her back--well, she had simply had enough. 

“I will not marry Roland Knight father. I wouldn’t marry him then and I certainly won’t marry him now!” Marianne shouted at her father. “I am a free woman and I am old enough that I can kiss any man I damn well want! And I am happy to have kissed Bog King. He is not only an honorable man, he is good and trustworthy and would never cheat on a woman on her wedding day!” Bog cringed slightly at that fact that she was yelling at her father, but his heart did a little flip in his chest. If he hadn’t already been falling for Miss Summerfield, her righteous indignation and the fact that she was happy to kiss him made him fall a little harder. 

Dagda frowned in surprise at his daughter before he retorted. “As long as you live under my roof young lady, you will obey my rules. And I say you are going to clear this mess up with Roland and you are going to marry him.” 

Marianne’s gaze never wavered from her father, her voice low. “I cannot believe you would say that.” 

Her father put his chin up. “Well...that’s it. You will marry Roland Knight.” 

Marianne’s eyes widened in shock, but her voice was a whisper that everyone in the house could hear. “Mother would never have allowed you to say that father.” 

Dagda turned pale. Part of him wanted to take back what he had just said. Yes, he wanted his daughter to marry Roland, but not like this, not with him forcing her. He had wanted the two of them to simply make up, for Marianne to see that she and Roland were meant to be together, that they looked perfect together, that Roland could take care of her in the manner she had grown accustomed to, that he would keep her safe and protected when he was gone. This sheriff, the man was a Scotsman, he was so much older than her, ugly...Oh god, the grandchildren! Dagda just wanted the best for her daughter. He didn’t want her to be a spinster, he wanted to know she was married, happy with children of her own, but when he saw her kissing that...man...that old, broken, Scottish...sheriff...well he simply couldn’t believe his eyes! He had never treated his daughters like property, but the words poured out of his mouth in his fear and anger and now he couldn’t take them back. 

Dagda snarled. “Young lady, your mother, bless her soul, isn’t here and I am your father. You will do as I say.” 

Bog frowned looking between the two of them. He had no idea if he should say anything or keep his mouth shut. One kiss did not make a relationship, but he didn’t like the fact that Marianne’s father was telling her how to conduct her life. No one should do that to any person. Fuck, they had just fought a whole war over a similar question not that many years ago, the color of a person's skin should not determine how they were treated, what their rights were or how they should conduct themselves, and a person's sex shouldn’t do that either. Marianne was a grown woman, a grown, intelligent woman (her kissing him aside), and she did not deserve to be treated like chattel by her father, told whom she would marry or with whom she would associate. That was one thing he had been raised to understand--people should be judged on their actions, on their behavior, on their ethics, not whether they wore breeches or petticoats, what country they were from, what religion they followed, and not on the color of their skin. He wanted to say all of that, but he didn’t. What he felt, right or wrong, didn’t matter. Interfering with Marianne and her father was something he would have to step away from, unless he needed to protect Marianne. He didn’t care that Dagda Summerfield was her father, if the man laid a hand on her, he wouldn't be getting that hand back. He would have to take action whether he was sheriff or not. Bog kept his mouth shut, his jaw clenched a little tighter, and waited. 

Marianne narrowed her eyes and set her lips into a firm line. It was that moment that her father realized he had gone a step too far. 

“Then I won’t be living under your roof Daddy. I will either stay on at the Primrose or I’ll find another place to live,” Marianne stated, her voice cold. 

Dawn could be heard gasping in the background. 

Dagda blinked in shock at his eldest daughter. “What?” 

“You heard me,” Marianne replied evenly. “I won’t be moving into this house Daddy. I will stay at the hotel or somewhere else, but I will not be told who I will marry and who I can kiss.” Bog felt Marianne’s fingers tighten around his waist, also felt that she was shaking slightly. He looked down at her, her brown eyes fiery, and he could see she was a little scared, but he could also tell she wasn’t going to back down. 

Her father growled, regretting the words even as they left his mouth. “I will not give you an allowance any longer if you do this. You move out of my house, unmarried, then you will have to find a way to care for yourself. You will get no more money from me.” 

Marianne spat right back. “Fine Daddy! Then I will simply get a job!” 

Everyone (except Bog) gasped. 

Dagda’s voice was shocked. “You wouldn’t?” 

Marianne smiled at her father. “Oh wouldn’t I?” 

Dagda drooped a little. “Marianne, please honey, you can’t mean this? Not over some…” He waved a disgusted hand at Bog. “Over a sheriff.” 

Marianne pulled Bog closer to her yet, startling him as she hissed. “Oh I can and I will. Bog is a very good man. He is three times the man Roland Knight is and if you would come down from your gilded palace and leave your old fashioned ideas behind, you would see that. Roland is not the man you think he is and Bog is a better man than you give him credit for. If you are so blind you can’t see that, then I don’t see that we have anything further to discuss.” 

Dagda tried again. “But dear, you’ve known him, what? Two days?? Is he really worth throwing away everything you know?” 

Marianne sighed. “Daddy, this just isn’t about how I’m feeling about Mr. King, though that is part of it. This is about you telling me how to live my life, telling me who to marry, telling me who to be. I can’t live my life like that and I shouldn’t have to.” 

Dagda looked at a loss. He wanted to take back his words, but he also didn’t want to lose face in front of the workmen. He didn’t feel like he could and so he whispered. “Fine. Then as of this moment you are cut off.” 

Marianne’s lip trembled as she turned to look at Bog. “Would your mother hire me? I don’t have many skills, but...” 

Bog looked stunned by the question, but nodded. “Aye, I’m sure she will, if she doesn’t have a position I’m sure my aunt has a maid’s position or...you could work with me.” Bog frowned in concern. (He hadn’t told Marianne exactly what sort of business his Aunt Aura ran and her father might actually have a heart attack if he knew.) Bog looked down on Marianne with some apprehension. His voice was soft, his accent thickened slightly. “Are ye sure about this Marianne?” 

Marianne looked at her father who had turned his back on her and walked away. She could hear her sister crying in the next room. Her heart felt heavy and it felt difficult to breathe. She swallowed struggling to control her emotions, but tears were spilling down her cheeks despite her best efforts. Suddenly the vicious, monstrous birds seemed minor compared to what had just happened. 

Bog shifted a little and she heard him make a small pained sound that he was struggling to keep quiet. Bog bit his bottom lip, the pain of standing and trying to keep his weight off Marianne lanced up from his knee through his thigh and into his hip, aggravating the deep scar on his side from the bayonet, all of it making him feel slightly ill. 

Marianne looked up seeing that Bog had gone pale. “Oh Bog, I’m sorry--here let’s help you back down.” 

Balrog nervously tapped a hoof against the floor, sensing his master's distress. He was already upset over the yelling that had just happened and the additional worry over his master made the horse uncomfortable. 

Bog nodded. “Yeah, I’m not sure I can stand much longer.” 

Marianne carefully and slowly helped to lower him to the floor again. She eased his bad leg out once she had him seated, her hands gentle on his calf. He winced in pain, making a slight hissing noise as he leaned back against the wall. A bit of perspiration shone on his brow and he could feel how swollen his knee was under the bandages and the fabric of his pants. He sighed, wishing both for a drink and some way to help Marianne. 

They were both quiet for a little bit. Marianne sat down next to him, her shoulder touching his, wiping angrily at her tears, while Bog tried to get his pain under control and wondered action he could take to help her. His instinct was to put his arm around her shoulder, but he didn’t know if she would welcome the touch or be angry since their misguided kiss had just cost her everything. He swallowed and motioned to his cigarettes. 

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked softly. He needed something to get his mind off the pain. 

Marianne sniffed and nodded. “No, of course not.” 

She waited patiently while Bog pulled a cigarette out and lit it, taking a deep drag and holding it in. She noticed that smoking helped to calm the minor tremor that had started in his body. He was clearly in a lot more pain than he was letting on. 

Marianne frowned. “Bog, are you really all right?” 

He nodded as he let out a trail of smoke, leaning back against the wall. “I am, promise, just need to relax a bit.” He took another drag before he said softly. “I’m sorry about your father. I’m sorry I kissed you.” He frowned, looking down at his lap. “I shouldn’t have, Marianne. I...” He struggled not knowing what to say. 

Marianne reached forward, her fingers tenderly touched his chin and lifted his face so that their eyes met. Her heart pounded and there was a rush of heat through her as she looked at him. His eyes were just so glorious and his mouth, she had never seen a mouth like that. She wanted so much to explore his lips more with her own. She quickly tapped down all her lustful thoughts (though it made her laugh inwardly that even despite what she had just been through with her father, her desires had absolutely no issue making themselves known.) 

“I don’t regret kissing you, not one bit Mr. King. And…” She blushed, but she charged ahead. “I would like to do it again.” 

Bog’s eyebrows lifted marginally in confusion. “But, I don’t understand.” He gestured with his head toward the doorway her father had exited through. “Your father…” 

Marianne sniffed. “I didn’t want that to happen, but, it was bound to, especially after last night with Roland’s brother arriving at the party, to know that this wasn’t the new start my father had said it would be…” Marianne took a breath, tamping down on her anger. “But just a...trap to get me back in Roland’s arms.” She scooted back to sit close to Bog. He hesitated for a moment before he held his arm up and Marianne immediately scooted under his arm to lay her head against his chest. Bog wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her against him. 

“I just can’t believe my Daddy would do that, not after what Roland did,” she said softly. 

Bog took a drag off his cigarette, careful to fbow the smoke away from her before he spoke. 

“You feel like talking about it?” he asked gently. 

Marianne closed her eyes and snuggled closer. Bog smelled good, like cigarette smoke and something else she couldn’t pinpoint, but whatever it was she liked it very much. The warmth of his body, his arm around her, the scent of him. He made her feel safe. She bent her legs a little and leaned her hip to the side, careful of his knee, but still kept her body pressed against his. He rubbed his hand slowly, comfortingly down her arm while she spoke. 

“He...I found him with another woman on the day we were to marry.” Marianne sighed. “I was on my way to the church, but I had wanted to stop and give him a flower from my bouquet to wear on his lapel.” She swallowed. “And I found him in the arms of another woman...naked.” She flushed with rage and embarrassment. That moment was seared into her memory, the humiliation combined with the pain were something that still haunted her. 

Marianne said softly. “I had been so in love with him, but now I know I was just in love with the idea of him. He was so handsome and I thought myself so lucky. But now I know I’m worth far more than that. I deserve better.” She smiled though the smile was slightly sad. 

Bog snarled. “That goddamn lickspittle.” 

Marianne couldn’t stop herself from bursting out with a laugh. “Oh my, Bog!” 

Bog blushed. “Sorry, just, that man needs a whipping. Why any man would do what he did to a woman like you. He was damn lucky to have you agree to marry him.” 

Marianne looked up with a smile. “Thank you Bog.” 

He smiled back, his cheeks still red. “Just stating the truth Marianne. Any man would be lucky to have a spirited, intelligent, and beautiful woman like you on his arm, let alone wearing his ring.” 

Marianne blushed at the praise. 

They were both quiet for a little bit when Bog spoke again, his voice soft. “I thought I was in love once, long time ago.” 

Marianne glanced up as he took a drag from his cigarette, her eyes caressing his face, studying his lips, the scars, the way his stubble disappeared under the collar of his shirt. She pressed her lips together on a blush, since she knew exactly what the man looked like without a shirt, her mind's eye reminding her of the image in great detail. She shifted a little as a heat she was still not accustomed to burst and spread through her. 

He let out the smoke though his nostrils slowly as he spoke. “She was a pretty woman, though nothing like you. Pretty women are a dime a dozen--beautiful women are rare--but at the time I was too young and stupid to know that. Anyway, she played me like a fiddle, stringing me along, making me think that what we had was real. Letting me buy her gifts, sneaking kisses until the day I found out she was engaged to someone else.” He sighed, leaning forward a bit to put the cigarette out on the sole of his boot. “I came by her house with a ring and she laughed at me when I asked her to marry me. Told me that she had just been using me to make old Bart Carlson jealous. She showed me the ring he had given her, which had been her goal all along.” He frowned. “Told me I was too hideous to marry, that ain't no woman in her right mind was going to marry a man like me.” Bog sucked on his upper lip. “And the worst part was I knew she was right. ‘Course, a few weeks later the war broke out and I signed up.” 

“Oh Bog, I’m so sorry,” Marianne said softly. 

Bog shrugged. “Ain’t nothing to be sorry about, that was a long time ago. I just told you because I wanted you to know I understand some of what yer feeling.” 

Marianne smiled tenderly. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” 

Bog shrugged not looking at her, but she could see the red on his cheeks. He really was a handsome man she thought not for the first time. 

They were both quiet again. The sounds of the birds outside could be heard once in a while, still close if the sound was anything to go by, but none of the creatures attacked the windows. Bog glanced toward one of the windows in this room, but he wasn’t inclined to test his luck by sticking his head out the damn thing, especially with the condition he was in at the moment. Bog gently ran his hand down her arm, said softly. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, get you a job and I’ll make sure you have a room, food. I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you are equipped to be an independent woman, Marianne.” 

Marianne smiled. “You don’t have…” 

Bog shook his head, but he smiled gently, his hand squeezing her shoulder. “I know, but I want to. I mean, I ain’t doing it so you’ll feel beholden to me or anything. I just want to help you, no conditions or expectations.” He gave her a gentle smile. 

Marianne smiled up at him. “Thank you Bog.” 

He blushed followed by a shrug. “It’s nuthin.” 

Marianne reached up and laid her fingers along his jaw and turned his face toward her. She leaned toward him. 

Bog reached up and laid his hand over hers. “You don’t have to kiss me Marianne.” 

She smiled softly. “I know I don’t.” 

She pressed her lips against Bog’s while her fingers slid up around his neck into the thick dark strands of his hair. She opened her mouth against his, her tongue sliding into his waiting mouth. 

Bog wrapped his one hand around her waist, his fingers pressed against her corset which he could feel under her dress, returning her kiss with a controlled passion. He realized as his tongue brushed against hers that he wanted this, wanted to be loved, wanted to love someone in return. He wanted a chance at happiness, something he had told himself over and over again that he didn’t want, that he didn’t care about and that he didn’t deserve. But kissing Marianne made him realize he wanted all of those things. He still didn’t think he deserved them, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting them. 

He pulled her closer, giving himself over to their kiss, his tongue gently sliding along hers. He moved his hand from her waist, reaching up to cup her face, his thumb stroked tenderly along her cheek caressing away the damp trail of tears on her cheek. He burned for her, his body was reacting in ways that it hadn’t in years. The pain of his knee fell away to be replaced by another ache. He held her face tenderly, his tongue and lips moving softly over hers. He was sure that this was exactly what kissing an angel must be like. 

Marianne made a small sound of want, scooting as close as she could to him, her fingers caressed his throat, her teeth sliding across his tongue. The only person she had ever kissed was Roland and the experience had been nothing like this. By comparison, kissing Roland had been sloppy with Roland demanding more than he was giving. This kiss with Bog was so different. 

Bog was a generous kisser, delicate, tender. He held her face gently in his hand, his lips and tongue moved gracefully over her mouth in a way that had fires burning low in her body, spreading through her, building until she felt dizzy. 

He pulled away, reluctantly, from her lips. Bog laid his forehead against hers, his hands still held her jaw, a thumb moving across her cheek tenderly. He looked into her eyes. 

“Ye have me at a loss for words,” he said softly. 

Marianne giggled. “I’ve been known to do that.” 

Bog opened his mouth to respond when they both heard footsteps and looked up to see Dawn hurrying into the room. She rushed over to that two of them and dropped to her knees on the floor in front of them. Marianne looked surprised. Dawn would never dirty her dress by sitting on a floor unless she was very upset. 

Dawn reached out and grabbed one of her sister’s hands. “You’re not really leaving are you?” 

Dawn looked back over her shoulder, clearly not wanting their father to know she was in here with her sister. 

Marianne squeezed her sister’s hand. “Dawn you shouldn’t…” 

She smiled. “I have a few minutes. Your horse relieved herself in the main room and now everyone is trying to figure out what to do about it.” She could quite suppress her giggle. “Daddy is beside himself worried that the entire house will smell like horse urine.” 

Bog chuckled glancing up at Balrog. “You wouldn’t do that would you boy?” 

The horse snorted at him and tapped one hoof against the floor as if the question had been an insult. 

Dawn looked between the two of them. “I don’t think Daddy is going to change his mind. I’ve never seen him so upset.” 

Marianne frowned. “I...I know Dawn, but I can’t back down. I don’t want to marry Roland. I can’t marry Roland. I deserve my own happiness and...” She swallowed back the tears that wanted to spring to her eyes yet again. “And I can’t make Daddy happy at the expense of my own happiness. I just can’t and it isn’t fair that he expects that of me.” 

Dawn tilted her head slightly. “I understand, I don’t want you to marry that...that...person.” (Dawn simply didn’t curse, she was incapable of even thinking of a curse word) “I just don’t understand why Daddy…” 

Bog spoke softly. “He’s just a man scared for his daughter. He’s making a poor choice by trying to force you, but he does love you.” He spoke to Marianne. “I don’t think he knows how to show it and change at the same time.” 

Marianne frowned before she looked to Dawn. “If Daddy tries to force you to marry someone you don’t want to Dawn…” 

Dawn frowned. “You don’t think he would, do you?” She looked unsure, her eyes wide. 

Marianne shrugged. “I don’t know, but please Dawn, don’t let him force you into anything.” 

Dawn smiled squeezing her sister’s hand. “I won’t. I promise.” 

* 

The next few hours between daylight and evening dragged on, though Bog and Marianne found themselves both secretly enjoying their time together alone, holding hands and speaking on several topics, with Marianne discovering that Bog wasn’t just well read in philosophy, but that he had a love affair with books of fiction, his current favorite being the newest collection of detective short stories, The Suicide Club by Robert Louis Stevenson. Bog learned that Marianne was quite skilled at archery, it being one of the more sport-like activities that her father had allowed (with the insistence of her mother), with Dawn periodically slipping in to speak to them both. Bog ambled outside to check on the birds twice, which almost immediately swooped down at him, but at some point between sunset and evening, the strange creatures simply vanished. 

Mr. Summerfield was anxious to return to town once Bog announced that the birds seemed to have gone, but Bog thought it was foolish. 

“We should wait until morning,” Bog said as he leaned on Marianne in the doorway of the room that they had been occupying with Bog’s horse. 

Dagda growled. “There is no reason to wait! The creatures are gone and I’m tired of being in this house at the moment, as I am sure everyone here is. We need to return; we have little food and even less water.” 

Bog tried to keep the exasperation from his voice. “I agree we need to return sir, but we should wait until morning. Traveling at night, even a short distance, can be dangerous. And with the events of the last two days, I don’t feel safe just lollygagging out into the night like a troop of fools. We wait,” Bog growled. “As the sheriff, that’s my final word on the matter.” 

Dagda growled right back. “You may be sheriff, but that doesn’t give you authority over me!” 

Bog, who with the help of Marianne had begun to turn, turned back around. His blue eyes flashed with something frightening Marianne thought, just a flicker that made her heart jump as he spoke to her father, his voice low and slightly cold. “You’ll find Mr. Summerfield, that as sheriff, I do have authority over you when it comes to the overall safety of this town and its individual occupants. Now, you are free to head on out there and get your fool ass killed--I won’t stop you--but I say we stay.” 

Dagda looked ready to keep arguing, but the murmur among the workmen told him that he may have tried to step too far, yet again. Instead of responding to Bog, he simply walked away into another room. 

Bog sighed tiredly, sagging a little in Marianne’s arms. “This is going to be a long ass night,” he muttered. 

Marianne looked back in the direction of her retreating father.


	7. Her Own Woman

The evening didn't turn out as bad as Bog thought it would, because at some point he fell asleep. He had tried to stay up, figured someone needed to stay up and keep a watch on the off chance those birds found a way into the house; as he was the sheriff, it should be him. But between his injuries, the pain, Marianne’s warmth with her body pressed against his side, and the smoothing tone of her voice as they spoke while she stroked his hand, he had fallen asleep. 

He dreamed about the war, about lying in a field, smelling his own blood, looking up at the sky, watching the light fade from blue to black, a blackness that was formed by hundreds of twisted crows, the wings blackening the sky. They flew overhead, the beat of their wings thrummed in time to the beat of his heart, to the blood pumping out of him with each beat. He was sure he was going to die, that he was sinking into darkness. He knew the crows would swoop down to devour him, coming closer and closer. The dead eyes of the boy he had killed to save himself looked down at him. Bog shuddered and tears blurred his vision… 

“I’m sorry.” He moaned softly in pain. “I'm so sorry.” 

The vision of his impending death was obscured by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, with soft brown eyes and silky brown hair in a porcelain skinned face. Marianne, it was Marianne. Bog smiled. He could die happy with the last vision being her face, her sweet smile and soft, yet ferocious brown eyes... 

Marianne smiled at him, brushing her fingers along his bloody cheek. “I’ll keep you safe,” she whispered. “I’ll give you all the things you missed Bog...I’ll give you the life you always wanted, the love that you need...” She caressed his bloody face. “Let me love you Bog King.” As she said those words, she leaned in and pressed her soft lips against his and he felt a lightness wash over him. 

“Bog? Are you all right? You’re crying?” Marianne’s voice was gentle, filled with concern. 

Bog brushed at his eyes with the back of his hand, and he could feel the tears on his skin. 

“Bog, it’s all right. I’m here,” Marianne whispered against his mouth, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “It was a bad dream. I’m here.” 

Bog frowned, confused before his eyes opened to see Marianne real and beside him. She smiled gently reaching up to brush her fingers against his wet cheeks. “Whatever it was Bog, it was just a dream.” 

Bog swallowed and sniffed, crawling back to full consciousness. 

“Bog--wake up.” He felt the gentle caress of Marianne’s fingers along his jaw then the sweet softness of her lips against the corner of his mouth when she kissed him again. “Wake up Bog, it’s morning.” Her voice was sweet, her touch sweeter still. “It was just a dream,” she murmured again. “Whatever it was, it was just a dream.” 

Bog’s eyes popped open wide in annoyance and he swore. “Damn it. I fell asleep!” 

Marianne was cuddled up against his side, her hair slightly flattened on one side where she had been laying her head against his chest. She wanted to ask him about the nightmare he had, he had been murmuring in his sleep saying he was sorry to someone. He had been in so much pain, but she sensed now was not the time to ask him about his nightmare. “We both did. Everyone did I think. But you needed to sleep. The house is quiet and I haven’t heard a sound. I think those things might be gone,” she said, turning to glance at the window in the room. 

Bog yawned covering his mouth at the same time his jaw cracked. Marianne pushed herself up and stretched her arms over her head, wincing slightly as she touched her stomach. “Sleeping in a corset isn’t that comfortable,” she observed. 

Bog frowned in understanding. Even if he had never worn a corset, as a soldier he had slept in his uniform with his weapons--not quite the same--but the discomfort was something he understood. He turned his focus to the window. The sun looked to just be coming up. The sky had that soft orange and yellow glow of early morning. Bog started to stand. Marianne got up and helped him to his feet, the two of them walking together to the window. His horse whinnied at him (at some point during the night Marianne’s horse had come into the room, the two beasts leaning against one another affectionately and for comfort.) Bog reached up to rub Balrog’s nose between his eyes as they came closer. The horse leaned into the touch, the worry clear in its large brown eyes. Bog smiled, stepping away from Marianne’s support so he could use both hands to rub his horse’s neck as Balrog laid his head on Bog’s shoulder carefully, Marianne noted as if the animal knew that Bog was unsteady. “I’m fine,” he said in a soft tone to the animal, rubbing his hands along the horse’s neck. “Just glad yer alright,” he whispered to his horse. 

Marianne smiled at this exchange, another small detail that added to the reason she was falling in love with this man. He had made an effort, putting himself in danger to save the horses, not just his horse, but hers, and the horses that had pulled the wagon as well. No life was unimportant to Bog; all lives were worth saving, even the horses. Bog had a big heart, he was a kind, caring man, a man she could see herself with... 

Her thoughts were distracted when Balrog jerked his head up and huffed at her in clear expectation. 

Bog chuckled as he rubbed the neck of Marianne’s horse, Katrina Rose, who had stepped closer to receive her own greetings. While her horse didn’t put her head on Bog’s shoulder, she did move close enough that Bog could gently rub her neck. “He wants you to say good morning to him I think.” Bog smiled at her while petting her horse. 

Marianne reached out gingerly. 

Bog glanced over at her. “Careful there--don’t touch his nose.” 

Marianne nodded and ran her hand along Balrog’s throat. The horse responded by stepping closer and laying his head on her shoulder, letting Marianne use both hands to rub his neck. 

Bog chuckled. “The big oaf loves attention.” 

Marianne laughed softly, giving the horse’s neck an affectionate rubbing. “Well, I think it speaks highly of his master that he loves you.” She glanced over at Bog with a smile, her smile widening when she saw Bog blush. 

Bog patted Marianne’s horse one more time before stepping back and making his way at a slow painful limp to the window. Marianne followed him, stopping briefly to affectionately greet her own horse before hurrying over to grab Bog and wrap her arm around his waist. He gave her a grateful smile as he headed to the window. 

Bog looked out, studying the trees, the sky, but saw no sign of the evil birds. “I'm gonna need to go outside to be sure…” he muttered to himself. 

“I’ll go with you…” Marianne began and quickly cut off Bog when she saw him open his mouth. She could see it in his blue eyes that he was about to protest. “Bog, you need my help. If those things are out there, you won’t be able to get back fast enough before they are on you, even with your guns. With my help though, you stand a better chance.” Marianne’s set her lips in a firm unyielding line. Bog was quickly learning that arguing with Marianne was mostly pointless once she had made her mind up. 

“Fine then,” he said, relenting. “Let’s go take a look.” Bog motioned toward the doorway. 

* 

The rest of the house was mostly quiet. Bog and Marianne saw one of the workers awake. Dawn was asleep, her back to the wall and their father lay next to her, his nose and upper lip still slightly swollen from the elbow to his face. He was asleep and looking far older than Marianne remembered, as if he had aged several years overnight. She felt horrible over their fight, but she couldn’t back down. This was her life and she was determined to live it her way. She would always love her father, but she couldn’t be the “good” girl he wanted her to be, to continue denying her true self. She hoped eventually her father would come around to seeing things her way. Until then, she would love her father, but she would also stay away from him. 

Bog and Marianne made their way to the front door. Bog pulled his gun out, checked the cylinder to make certain it held a full load of ammunition, and held it ready as the two of them stepped onto the front porch. 

But nothing happened. 

They made their way down the steps and made their way far enough out into the yard to turn around and look at the house, but all evidence of the foul creatures from the day before was gone, as if they had never been there at all. 

Bog frowned, looking slightly confused. “I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not, but I say we hook our horses up to the wagon and get back to town before those things decide to show up again.” 

Marianne nodded her agreement. “I’ll go get the horses and wake everyone. Do you want me to get..?” 

Bog shook his head. “I’ll stay here, the less going up and down the stairs the better.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Go on, I’ll be fine. If ye hear shooting though…” 

Marianne looked grim, but she nodded, lifted her skirts, and raced up the steps. 

* 

It didn’t take long before the group had the two horses tied to the wagon with some rope; it wasn’t the best harness, but it would hopefully be enough to get them all home. Not everyone could fit in the wagon, and loading it up with all the workers would be a lot for the horses to pull. Neither horse was meant for that type of work, so a few of the men walked. Mr. Summerfield and his youngest daughter rode, with Marianne sitting up front with Bog who was stirring the horses. 

It was a quiet, tense ride back into town with Marianne’s father acting as if his eldest daughter didn’t exist, Dawn looking tired and heartbroken, Marianne looking hurt, yet determined, and Bog felt weary. He kept his anger with Mr. Summerfield in check, but was also pleased to have Marianne sitting beside him, even if they didn’t speak except with light touches and smiles, with a number of secret looks. 

* 

When they arrived back in town, it was mid morning and King’s Veil was coming awake. The moment the wagon had passed the first set of buildings, Thang came rushing out of the jail looking as if he had slept in his clothes. Everything about the short man looked wrinkled and unkempt, but the relief in his eyes was sweet as he rushed toward the wagon Bog was driving. “Mr. King!! Oh, thank the lord!!! We were going to organize a party to head out to the Summerfield house!” Thang was panting as he came to a stop, dropping his hands to his knees to catch his breath. “Those horses came back in with their harnesses cut and falling off them and we didn’t know what to think!” Thang looked up again as Bog brought the wagon to a stop in front of the sheriff's building, the workers all began to disperse, ready to head to their homes or rented rooms to wash up, eat, and probably sleep most of the day away in the comfort and safety of their own beds, though each man made their way to Bog first. Each one took the sheriff’s hand, giving it a firm shake, thanking him for getting them home alive and in one piece. 

The man who was the head contractor, an older man with watery grey eyes, shook Bog’s hand vigorously when Bog had climbed out of the wagon with Marianne’s help. He gripped Bog’s hand firmly. 

“You sir, are a true gentleman and a fine sheriff. I can’t thank you enough for getting me and my men out of there in one piece. Men like you are few and far between and it’s a pleasure to know that you’re our sheriff.” He smiled. “My wife is gonna be most pleased with ya.” 

Bog smiled, felt a blush rise over his cheeks, but he nodded, accepting the men’s thanks though he told each man that he had simply been doing his job, which was exactly true. 

While Bog was speaking with the contractor, Mr. Summerfield began to walk by with Dawn following him as he walked past Bog and Marianne without looking at either of them. Marianne noticed he didn’t thank Bog for saving them, which only made her fury at her father grow. 

“Dawn, let us return to our rooms,” Dagda said, walking toward the hotel. He wanted to be out of the establishment as soon as possible what with the place being owned and run by Bog King’s mother, but he had no choice but to stay at the hotel. The house was not yet complete and with the attack at the house he wasn’t sure when he would be able to get the workers back out there again. To make matters more troubling, he knew there was no other hotel. He was sure he could find them rooms to rent from someone else in town, but the thought of sharing a house with some of these people made Dagda Summerfield’s skin crawl. No, he would put up with the hotel. 

Dawn frowned, but she moved toward her sister, glancing between her sister and her father who had stopped a little ways from the wagon looking at his youngest child expectantly. Dawn looked torn. 

Dawn sighed reaching out for her sister’s hands. “Marianne…” 

“Dawn--come along,” Dagda said in a firm tone without looking at Marianne. 

Marianne took her sister’s hand while giving her father a withering glare. She was both deeply hurt and annoyed at her father. The fact that he was being so damn (she surprised herself with the mental cursing) stubborn made her want to rebel against her father even more. She wanted to take Dawn with her, but she knew her little sister wasn’t quite ready. Maybe after their father cooled down, he would retract his statement, but Marianne had a feeling her father would hold onto his stubbornness for a long time… 

Marianne was hurt deeply by her father’s rejection, more hurt than she wanted to admit, but she was not going to be bullied into a loveless marriage just because her father was being both blind and as dull as dishwater. She would forge her own life, her own way. He could either accept that or not, but Marianne was determined to be her own woman. She turned her attention to her sister taking Dawn’s outstretched hands in hers. She may be forging her own life, but she was not going to leave her sister behind. Marianne squeezed her sister’s hands and looked Dawn in the face. Her little sister was upset and scared, Marianne could see it in her sister’s eyes. 

“I’ll be at the hotel shortly to collect my things. We can talk then.” Marianne tried to give her sister a reassuring smile. 

Dawn frowned and nodded, squeezing her sister’s hand in return. “All right, but couldn’t you still stay in the room? Daddy has to pay for it regardless of how many of us are in the room...” 

Marianne shook her head. “No, I can’t Dawn. I’m sorry.” 

Bog, who had been explaining to Thang what had happened at the Summerfield house, stopped, motioned Thang back to the sheriff’s office before he stepped near to the sisters. He didn’t want to intrude, but they were close enough that he couldn’t help but hear. He looked to Dawn trying to give the young woman a reassuring smile. 

“I’ll make sure yer sister has a nice place to stay. You don’t have to worry and…” 

He glanced in Dagda’s direction and saw his mother hurrying over from behind the older man. “I’ll make sure you and your sister get time to see each other too.” Bog frowned at Dagda. “Don’t you worry.” 

Dawn let go of Marianne, surprising Bog when she threw her arms around him and hugged him, nearly knocking him off his feet and made him wince in pain. “Thank you Bog,” Dawn said against his chest. 

Dawn let go of the sheriff and took a step back, looking between them both, her eyes filled with pain and fear before she turned to follow her father back to the hotel, looking over her shoulder toward her sister every couple of steps. Marianne sighed, reaching out to lay a hand against the wagon. She looked tired, worn, as if the weight of the world had fallen on her shoulders. Marianne looked ready to cry and it broke Bog’s heart. 

Bog stepped closer to her, his limp more pronounced. It was clear he was in a lot of pain, tired and needed to rest. He stopped in front of Marianne, reaching out to gently stroke her cheek. 

“You all right?” he asked. 

Marianne shook her head. “No.” 

Bog frowned, about to ask her what he could do when his mother, wearing a paisley design dress of red, gold, tan, black, and grey came up, nearly knocking him off his feet. (That was becoming a habit already, Bog thought, of women nearly knocking him off his feet. Granted, his knee was damaged and not holding him up properly, but still…) 

“Oh god, Bog! When you didn’t come back yesterday I was so scared! Then those horses wandered back into town last night...” Griselda held her son tighter. 

Bog winced. “Okay Mam, yer hurting me.” 

Griselda let go, then gasped and reached up to grab Bog’s face, yanking him down to her so she could inspect the damaged. “Bog, what happened to your face? And your hands?! You look terrible!” 

Bog groaned and tried not to roll his eyes. “Mam stop, please.” 

Marianne spoke up. “There were birds, horrible, twisted crows that attacked us.” She looked at Bog with a soft smile. “Bog here protected everyone and got us all to safety. He’s a hero.” 

Griselda looked at her son with pride, but Bog shook his head. “I ain’t no hero, just doing my job.” 

Griselda frowned at her son, then shook her head. “You need to get off that leg and I need to look at those scratches. Twisted crows you say?” 

Bog nodded as his mother took up one side of him and Marianne took up the other. “Aye. That’s two incidents in less than twenty-four hours of dark things happening. I know there are things out there, always have been, but something ain’t right about this. I need to do some investigating, figure out why…” 

Griselda nodded. “Yes, but not right now, my boy. Right now you need a bath, some good food, and rest.” 

Bog sighed. “Yes, oh and uh...we can talk about it over some breakfast, but Marianne needs our help Mam.” 

Marianne blushed when Griselda leaned forward slightly to glance at Marianne around Bog’s chest. “Oh?” 

Marianne nodded. “Ah yes, but I would rather not talk about it on the street.” 

“Of course dear.” Griselda nodded again and the two women focused on getting Bog back to the hotel. 

* 

A couple of hours later Bog was bathed, his wounds cleaned and dressed (luckily no stitches were necessary, though his mother had agreed with Marianne, he was going to have a few additional scars on his face. Bog had sighed at the thought. He wasn’t an attractive man anyway, but more scars on his already ugly face weren’t gonna help the situation. He was thankful Marianne had still wanted to kiss him with the bloody scratches on his face, though he wondered if she would feel the same way about the scars. He frowned, wishing for a cigarette and to banish his unsavory thoughts about himself. He knew he wasn’t doing himself any good focusing on the negative.) Bog sat at the table in his mother’s rooms, dressed in a fresh set of simple clothing, wearing a pair of black work slacks, a simple white shirt and a black vest with gold buttons over the vest, though he hadn’t bothered fastening the buttons, letting the vest hang open. Always prepared, however, he had his guns in holsters under his arms. His damp hair was slicked back from his face where his mother had reapplied some healing ointment to the cuts. Small bandages covered one or two of the deeper scratches, and his leg was wrapped and propped up in a chair with a new cane leaned against the chair. His black duster and hat lay over the back of the chair. 

When Bog had refused once more to take laudanum that Dr. Howard had left for him for his pain from his previous injury, his mother had forced some of her own medicine on him. The pain was dulled by the fact that his mother had forced a concoction of willow bark and turmeric tea down him. It had tasted awful, but he did feel a bit better. He frowned with a look at his leg. Something was going on around King’s Veil, something dark and nasty. He couldn’t afford to be laid up. He had to find out what it was before something darker and more deadly attacked the town and its people, Bog decided while to worried at his bottom lip and wishing again for a cigarette. 

His mother’s dining room was small, but cozy. The room was papered with a dark green wallpaper textured in a gold pattern with a thick oriental rug of reds and greens on the hardwood floor. A small desk sat by the window, which had lace curtains on it. The chandiler that hung from the ceiling was made from crystals and still held fixtures for candles instead of gas. The furniture in here was crafted from rich, heavy wood and the cushions of every chair were made with green velvet. The table at which he sat was a simple round table with a white lace tablecloth over the top. Bog glanced at the walls of the room. There was a cabinet that held the good dishes and the crystal decanters, while a few small paintings hung on the walls; one of his parents when they were first married, and another of him before the war. A large, ornate wooden framed mirror that someone had given to his mother stood in one corner. He remembered his father telling the story of his fight to win his mother’s hand, his mother had kept the mirror as a reminder of how the gifts of objects can’t buy a heart (that and it was a damn fine mirror his father would say with a laugh). Some dandy had given his mother the mirror as a gift, but how his father had known what Griselda really wanted and had given her his heart. His father had said he opened himself up to Griselda, gave her everything that he was, and that had been all she had wanted. Bog hadn’t understood what his father had meant by that, but as he gazed at the large mirror, he understood now. He wanted the opportunity to make himself vulnerable to Marianne, to give her all of him, his heart... 

Bog frowned, wondering not for the first time--and now that he wasn’t in Marianne’s presence--if he wasn’t making a mistake. If he had somehow tricked Marianne into wanting to kiss him, into liking him and that he was the cause of her fight with her father? He frowned deeper. He didn’t want to do that, even unintentionally. He knew she had said that he wasn’t the cause, but he just couldn’t help but feel that he was somehow. 

“Bog Fergus Leslie King, whatever it is you’re thinking about, you better stop it now. I can see it in your face, that you’re thinking dark thoughts about yourself.” 

Bog looked up to see his mother walking into the room, carrying a tray with a hot pot of tea, cups, scones, and a small porcelain container that he knew had honey butter in it. 

She smiled at her son as she set the tray down on the table and began to remove the tea and scones. “I thought you should have a little something to nibble on while we wait for Miss Summerfield. I’ll have a full breakfast meal ready in just a little bit. Marianne is moving her suitcases to my sewing room for now until we figure out where she can stay. I would love to have her here, but since her father is going to be here for a while I don’t think that is such a good idea.” She poured Bog’s tea with a thoughtful expression. Bog waited quietly, watching his mother. He could tell she was building up to something. She finished with the tea and picked up a scone, buttering it as she spoke. “I thought that maybe she could rent a room from your aunt. I know it would look unsavory for a woman of her standing, but we are short on places where an unmarried young woman could stay in this town.” She handed the scone to her son as she continued. “It’s the only place I can think of that has a room to rent, unless she were to stay with you…”

Griselda looked up to see Bog flushing a bright cherry red as she continued. “But that might be worse, unless you two were married.” Bog choked on the scone he had just taken a bite of and reached for his tea that he swallowed down. His mother smirked as she continued. “So I sent word to your aunt to join us for breakfast, she should be here any time now.” Griselda smiled. “Though I did have a thought dear, about what sort of work Marianne could do. I would love to hire her here, but I don’t really need any more staff and I just don’t think cleaning is a job for her. So my thoughts are...why don’t you hire her as another deputy? You’ve been wanting to hire someone and with Thang and his wife having another baby…” Griselda looked up at her son expectantly as she continued. “She is smart, quick, and seems determined to follow you into every dangerous situation…” Bog frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know Mam, being a deputy can be dangerous...obviously.” He grunted. “I mean, she asked me about helping me after I hurt my leg…” Griselda grinned. So Marianne had already been asking about helping her son? Perfect. Bog continued. “I just...” 

“Bog, teach her to shoot, teach her to ride a horse like you do, teach her how to take care of herself. She is a very tough young woman. If she doesn’t want the job, I’ll find something for her to do to earn some coins, but imagine her riding beside you with a star on her breast…” 

Bog’s blue eyes took on a faraway look and Griselda knew she had him. Working together would bring the two of them closer together and after Marianne had mentioned the kiss while Griselda was showing her the sewing room, she could tell the young woman was more than simply smitten with her son; Marianne was on the verge of falling in love with Bog. Griselda could see those stirrings in her son, as well. Getting the two of them to work together would be the perfect means to forge their newly birthed relationship. A couple that could work and play together was stronger, she thought with motherly approval. Besides, Marianne was clearly not the type of young woman who was going to stand by and let her man do all the work. 

Griselda smiled, pleased with herself when Martha popped her head around the doorframe. “Ah Mrs. King--Miss Summerfield is here.” 

“Oh send her in, Martha dear.” Griselda smiled, but her lips took on a mischievous tilt when she saw the way her son’s face lit up. 

Marianne came around the corner a moment later. She had cleaned up, her hair pulled up from her temples with a few wispy curls framing her face. The rest of her hair was braided and joined in a loop held in place with an olive green silk ribbon that matched her dress. The dress she wore was olive green silk satin bodice and skirt with a long train, trimmed with rows of ruffles on the sleeves and down the front of the skirt. No sign showed of the horror she had endured the day before and when she saw Bog, her entire being lit up from within. Griselda smirked. She was going to have a daughter-in-law, she was sure of it now. 

“Marianne, come have a seat. I’ll have breakfast ready in just a little bit, but there is hot tea and scones for the both of you in the meantime. Now, I’ll be right back.” And before Marianne could wish her a good morning, Griselda had hurried from the room. 

Marianne smiled at Bog, her cheeks rosy. “You look better.” 

Bog snorted. “I look clean, not better.” He started to move, but Marianne motioned him back. “I can pull my own chair out.” 

Bog frowned. “Sorry.” 

Marianne shook her head slightly. “Bog, don’t be silly. How is your leg?” 

Bog looked at his leg on the chair. “Better. Mam gave me an awful tasting concoction for the pain, which helped a little. Better than laudanum at any rate.” 

Marianne smiled. “Good.” 

Bog frowned in concern as she began to pour herself some tea. “Are you all right?” 

Marianne’s mouth tightened at the corners, her eyes turning sad. “Yes and no. I just…” she sighed and set the teapot down. “He wouldn’t even look at me when I passed him in the hall.” She looked up at Bog. Her brown eyes were brimming with tears and she gave him a sad yet determined smile. “But I won’t cave to my father’s demands no matter how much it hurts me for him to treat me like this.” 

Bog schooled his features. He felt anger towards at Mr. Summerfield; the man was being pig-headed and downright cruel to his eldest daughter, as far as he was concerned. No man should treat his own flesh and blood like that and if Bog had a chance he was going to give Mr. Summerfield a piece of his mind, but for now Bog wanted to focus on Marianne. 

“So, ah...my Mam had a couple of ideas…” He frowned as he realized he still held a scone in his hand that was starting to crumble and he quickly set it down. 

“Ah...so she said that there is a room available at my aunt’s place for you, if you want it…” Bog began. Marianne’s face lit up which made Bog cringe and decided to ask her about the job before he told her where the room actually was. “And she suggested that I might hire you to work with me. I know we had talked about it a little, but...” Bog gave her a small smile as Marianne gazed at him expectantly. “...I would hire you as an actual deputy with a badge.” 

Marianne blinked, thankful that she was sitting down because that statement would have knocked her off her feet. 

“As a deputy? Really?” Marianne asked, her voice breathless. 

Bog nodded. “Aye, I’m gonna need another one what with Thang and his wife ready to have another baby and…” 

“Yes!” Marianne gasped. “Yes! I’ll do it!” 

Bog tried to keep his expression serious, but he was having a hard time with it. A smile struggled to shine through while he spoke. “Now I’ll have to teach you to shoot a pistol, a rifle, and ride a horse like I do, ‘cause riding side saddle isn’t going to work when you have days where you spend a long time in the saddle. You’ll have to wear something more sturdy, and…” 

Marianne rose to her feet and rushed over to Bog to wrap her arms around him. “Yes, yes to all of it! Thank you Bog!” She hugged him and pressed her cheek against his cheek. 

Bog blushed and put one arm around her, though he wanted to hold her tightly. Instead, he awkwardly patted her back. She smelled like vanilla and summer flowers and the soft curls of her hair brushed against his face. 

Bog closed his eyes, enjoying her closeness as he spoke. “Well, ah...alrighty then. We can start tomorrow after we get you settled in yer new place.” 

Marianne leaned back to look in his eyes. “Thank you Bog.” 

Bog blushed. “Well, as my Mam said, you seem determined to follow me into trouble.” 

Marianne smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll follow you anywhere Bog.” 

Bog blinked in surprise at her. “Marianne, I…” 

But he didn’t finish his sentence before Marianne kissed him, pressing her mouth to his in a firm kiss. Bog’s eyes widened in surprise for a fraction of a second before he reached up and cradled her face in his hands opening his mouth slowly against her lips. Marianne’s tongue flicked into his mouth, the tips of their tongues touching. The contact seemed to open a gate, causing Marianne to moan softly, breathy, her mouth moving over his in a sensuous caress. 

Bog returned her kiss just as passionately, his tongue brushed against her lower lip before sliding against the warmth of her tongue. 

Marianne moved her lips over his mouth, letting her tongue twist and caress his in a sweet, yet fiery kiss at the same time. She surprised herself when she lowered herself to his lap (careful of his bad leg.) Marianne reached up to caress his face, her fingers playing along his jaw, her thumb brushing against his chin while she kissed him tenderly. Her other hand lay against his chest, her fingers pressing into the cloth of his shirt. She could feel the heat of his skin under the cotton. She was a free woman now. She could pick her own destiny, make her own choices, kiss whom she wanted to kiss, she thought and Bog was who she wanted to kiss. 

Bog grunted softly, adjusting his good leg to hold her, dropping one hand down to wrap around her legs, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress as he pulled her closer. He never wanted to stop kissing her. His mind was completely focused on the feel of her body pressed against him, her weight on his lap, her mouth on his that he didn’t hear his mother step into the room. Griselda had turned the corner, carrying a tray with plates loaded down with bacon and eggs, along with biscuits and gravy and a pot of coffee. She stopped in her tracks, her mouth open to say something when she saw Bog and Marianne kissing. She smirked with her eyes widening. It was highly improper of the two of them to be kissing in her dining room like that, but she was thrilled. It was high time that Bog found someone. That boy worried her living all alone like he did, away from the rest of the town. She knew he carried more than physical wounds with him from the war. He needed someone to take care of him, someone to love him, and someone to love. Hopefully Marianne Summerfield was just the young woman for him. 

She hated to disturb them, but... 

She took several steps back, cleared her throat, and said loudly. “Breakfast is ready!” 

She waited a heartbeat or two before she came around the corner to see Marianne sitting properly in her seat, both of them blushing as if they had gotten too much sun. 

Bog took a heavy swallow of his tea and tried to smile natural-like at his mother. “Smells good Mam.” 

She grinned, setting the tray down. “Now I expect you both to eat yer fill, especially you Bog, you have healing to do.” She glanced over at Marianne who had stood up to help her. “That boy can’t seem to gain any weight! Getting him to eat is hard enough and then getting any meat on those bones has always been near impossible.” 

Marianne smiled and blushed as she glanced at Bog. “I like him just the way he is Mrs. King.” 

Bog blushed, looking boyish as he cast his eyes down. “Marianne…” 

Griselda suppressed her chuckle. “Now, did Bog get around to telling you about the room?” 

Marianne nodded making a plate for Bog of eggs, bacon, and lots of biscuits and gravy. “He just said there was a room with his aunt.” 

Griselda nodded. “Aunt Aura, she runs the The Sugar Plum Saloon and whore house…” 

“Mam!” Bog blurted out blushing. 

Griselda looked up at her son. “What? That’s what it is.” She turned her attention back to Marianne. “Bog has never gone there for services, don’t you worry about that my dear. Bog’s been living like a priest for the last several years since his return from the war. Now, I can’t say what he got up to during…” 

“Mam! Please!” Bog begged, but Griselda barreled on ahead without looking at her son. “Bog’s only ever been in there for a few drinks, to break up fights, or to let his aunt feed him. And I wouldn’t worry about your reputation. Aura rents that room to folk who have nothing to do with the whoring part of the establishment all the time…” 

“Mam!” Bog groaned. 

Marianne suppressed a giggle at Bog’s clear embarrassment and irritation, but his mother ignored him. “It’s a nice room situated at the back of the saloon. It might get a little loud at night, but Bog keeps a strict curfew of one in the morning, and I promise you all the girls that work there are just as sweet as fresh picked strawberries on a summer day. They all see Bog as an older brother who helps keep them safe…” 

Bog leaned his elbow against the table and covered his face with a long-fingered hand. 

Marianne looked both amused and maybe slightly put off. “You mean your aunt is…” her voice dropped to a whisper. “A painted lady?” 

Griselda nodded and answered. “Yes, she’s the madam of the place. You’ll like her my dear. Won’t she Bog?” 

Bog looked up over his hand at his mother, but then Marianne said before he spoke. “Actually I was thinking I could give you my place. I could set up a tent…” 

“Bog, no. This will be fine.” Marianne smiled. 

Bog shook his head. “A lady like you shouldn’t be…” 

Marianne shook her head. “No, I’m an independent woman now with a job and I want a place of my own. The room will be just fine and if it happens to irritate my father, all the better.” She folded her arms over her chest, her brow furrowed. “Can I see it after breakfast?” 

Griselda smiled, admiring Marianne all the more for her determination. “Of course you can, Bog will take you over there, won’t you dear?” 

Bog frowned looking at Marianne, his blue gaze serious. “Are you sure?” 

Marianne nodded. “My reputation is mine now and I’ll worry about it. Yes, I’m sure. Besides, I’m going to be a deputy, right?” 

Bog smiled at her, admiration clear in his voice. “You are a tough woman.” His voice became soft as he said, “I like that.” 

Marianne blushed prettily. 

Griselda smirked again and sipped her tea. 

* 

It was still on the early side of the afternoon, heading into mid-afternoon when Bog and Marianne set off to the saloon. Bog walked slowly, limping with his cane, but he still cut a fine figure Marianne thought with his black duster, wide brimmed black western fedora and vest. He was tall and slender with wide shoulders; his entire presence was commanding giving her delightful shivers as she walked beside him, her arm linked through his arm. A few people passed them and tipped a hat or nodded in greeting to Bog, showing clear respect for their sheriff. Which he richly deserved, Marianne thought, after fighting off that foul creature the night of the party and then again fighting those monstrous birds to save others. He was brave, gallant, wonderful. She blushed at her own thoughts, smiling and glancing sideways at him as they walked down the dusty dirt road. 

He had told her the saloon would just be opening their doors for lunch. His aunt offered free lunches to entice customers in, but the girls didn’t actually start working until after the sun had gone down. Until then many of them worked at cleaning, cooking, and serving food and drink until sundown. 

Marianne tried not to be nervous. For all her bravado, she was still a little nervous about going into a house of ill repute. Her father, when he heard not only about her new occupation, but where she was going to be staying, was going to be more than simply upset. If he hadn’t disowned her entirely already, her renting a room in a bordello would be the last straw to break the camel's back. Marianne wasn’t sure how she felt about that; angry, sad, depressed, yes all those things. But at the same time she was happy, having the opportunity to forge a life for herself on her own terms, and pursue the man she had set her sights on. 

She glanced sideways, looking up at Bog, pressing her lips together on a happy smile. 

Bog sensed her looking at him and glanced down at her, lifting a dark brow in query, but Marianne simply giggled leaving him looking confused. 

Bog and Marianne walked up the short set of stairs to the doors when they both heard shouting. 

“I don't care if the whores aren’t ready!! I came in here with good money for a good piece of pussy and I expect to get fucked, you cunt!” 

Bog and Marianne both went still at the door. 

Bog turned red with embarrassment and anger. He had never heard anyone speak to the girls or his aunt that way before, not in his town. Usually all the men (and occasionally women) who came here were always respectful (except those who went to church, who preferred to keep their opinions to themselves, especially since they knew The Sugar Plum brought money to the town and confessions to the church) of his aunt and the girls. No one ever called them names, never treated them poorly, and anyone who did had to answer to Bog. Bog didn’t tolerate anyone treating the women in his town, regardless of profession, cruelly. 

“Marianne, maybe you should wait here.” Bog let go of her arm, his hand going to his pistol under his left arm, where he used his thumb it free the strap from his holster, but Marianne reached out and stopped him. “No, if I’m going to be one of your debuties, I need to be able to help with this sort of thing too. I might even be better at it since I’m a woman.” 

Bog frowned. He wanted to refuse, but he wasn’t going to be that sort of man who would tell Marianne what she could and couldn’t handle. “All right, just...whoever this is might need a beating.” 

Marianne smirked. “Good, because I don’t like the way he’s talking.” 

Bog snarled, turning to push the doors open. “Me either.” 

The two of them walked inside to see his aunt, dressed in her day clothes, a light blue silk taffeta dress with a high collar and silk and ribbon knotted trim, her hair done up in curls looking every inch the respectable owner of a respectable establishment. Next to her stood Arnold, looking red in the face with fury, and standing in front of them were two well-dressed men both wearing thigh length grey coats, stiff collars, and top hats which they hadn’t bothered to remove. 

Bog snarled as he limped inside. “What the hell is going on here?” 

Both men turned. They were identical, both blonde, both handsome, green eyes, and with the features of men not accustomed to hard work, but accustomed to the good things in life, and to getting their way. 

Marianne gasped loudly when she saw them. 

Roland glanced at his brother Reese, his identical twin in every way, right down to the disgusting smirk. “Marianne!!! I’m so happy to see you!” Roland took a step toward her, holding his arms out. 

Marianne muttered under her breath. “Fuck.”


End file.
